Life, Resumed
by Speaker-to-Customers
Summary: William Pratt passes out in a stable, in 1880, and wakes to find himself in a strange new world of horseless carriages, flying machines, and incandescent filament electric lights. Oh, yes, and the mysterious Mr Angel and his wild tales of vampires...
1. Chapter 1

London, 1880...

William sat on a bale of straw and tore up the sheets of paper bearing his poetry. He broke off from his self-appointed task when he realised that a young woman, curvaceous of figure and pretty of face, had entered the stable. He brushed at his eyes with his sleeve. It was not fitting that a woman should observe him crying in such unmanly a fashion.

"And I wonder," the beautiful stranger addressed him, "what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?" Her accent was that of the labouring classes but her vocabulary and phrasing suggested an education. A perplexing incongruity.

"Nothing," William insisted. "I wish to be alone."

"Oh, I see you," the woman told him. "A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory."

This was a pleasing contrast to the abuse and mockery that he had suffered at the party, and the heartbreaking contempt from Cecily, and William couldn't help but smile.

"That, and burning baby fish swimming all around your head," the woman went on.

William's smile vanished. The woman appeared to be suffering from some mental disorder. He rose from the straw bale and backed away. "That's quite close enough," he warned her. "I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you."

"Don't need a purse," she said with a smile. "Your wealth lies here," she pointed to his heart, "and here." Her finger lifted to indicate his head. "In the spirit and imagination. You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine."

William smiled despite himself. That was exactly his own perception. There was no fault with his poetry. How could there be when he had laboured so hard over every word? George, Algernon, even Cecily, were simply incapable of understanding. "Oh, yes," he agreed.

The stranger came closer. An enigmatic smile on her lips seemed to hint at impossible delights. A finger toyed with the buttons of her bodice. William gulped. He had read of such things in an issue of 'The Pearl' that George had loaned to him but it had never occurred to him that he would ever have any opportunity to experience the pleasures of the flesh for himself. Not outside of wedlock, certainly, at least not with a beautiful woman. Desire warred with his natural shyness. "I mean no," he said, as shyness won out. "I mean, Mother is expecting me."

The woman reached out. Her fingers touched the neck of his shirt, unfastened the studs, and opened his collar to expose his throat. "I see what you want," she murmured. "Something glowing and glistening. Something… effulgent."

"Effulgent," William echoed.

"Do you want it?" she asked.

William gulped again. This was no raddled harlot, no soiled dove, but a beautiful and even elegant woman. His bruised soul cried out for comfort. The thought of carnal pleasures was an irresistible temptation. "Oh, yes," he admitted. He tentatively reached out and touched her in the – gulp – chest area. "Oh God, yes."

Suddenly the woman was no longer beautiful. Her face changed, distorted, and became an ugly demonic mask. Fangs gleamed in her mouth behind her ruby lips. Terror filled William and he tried to pull back but she seized him in a grip of iron. Her fangs descended towards his neck, pierced his throat, and sent incandescent agony flowing through him. Yet there was an oddly erotic pleasure there too. His senses blurred. His vision dimmed. He felt himself grow weak.

The fangs were withdrawn. He found that his head had been pushed against her chest, and his lips were pressed against a wound. Blood flowed into his mouth. Some deep instinct compelled him to drink. Everything went black.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

William raised his head. He was lying on the ground and it was raining. How much time had passed? What had the strange woman done to him? He lifted a hand to his neck and pulled it away again. Had he dreamt the entire affair? There was no wound.

It was still dark. He could see little. He realised that he no longer wore his spectacles and groped around him but could not find them. The surface of the ground felt strange. No cobbles. A hard and very flat surface, but rougher than stone flags. Where was he? This was not the alleyway that had led to the stable in which he had met the beautiful stranger.

He clambered to his feet. What had happened? His very clothes felt strange. He looked down and felt his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He wore a coat that he had never seen before. It seemed to be made of leather. Heavy boots were upon his feet. His body was clad in some dark garment, tight fitting but collarless. Was he wearing nothing over his union suit other than the unfamiliar coat? Had the woman stolen his clothing?

He looked around him and his mouth dropped open. The woman who stood nearby was stranger than the one who had attacked him by orders of magnitude. She wore a garment of some glossy material, perhaps leather, that clung to her form in most immodest fashion. Her legs were trousered rather than decently concealed by a long skirt. She had no bustle whatsoever. And her hair, unless it was a trick of the light, was blue!

The exotic creature opened her mouth and spoke. "You survived. That pleases me. I have lost too much already. I feared that you had also perished."

"Also perished?" William echoed. He had no idea what she was talking about. Had someone died?

"Charles succumbed to his injuries," the woman said. "I shall mourn him. The grief of Wesley's passing fills me. To have more grief is almost beyond bearing. I am thankful that you were not slain, my pet."

"Pet?" The woman appeared to know him, but why would she call him 'pet'? He peered at her. She was far enough away that he would have been able to see her plainly if the light were better, even though he was without his spectacles, but the darkness and the rain was obscuring his vision. "Do I know you?"

"What are you on about, Spike?" A male voice spoke from out of the darkness. "Hey, we won. I can hardly believe it. Hundreds of them and we won."

William turned towards the speaker. It was a tall man, with dark hair, who wore a coat not dissimilar to the one that William had found himself to be wearing. His shirt was dark, as was William's, but it did have a collar. "I beg your pardon?" William addressed the stranger. "I do not believe that we have met. Has there been some conflict? Or a sporting event? No, if someone has died, it must indeed have been a conflict. A riot? I do not understand. Was I, perhaps, struck upon the head and deprived of my senses?"

The man raised his face towards the heavens and frowned into the driving rain. "This is not the time to act like an idiot, Spike. Let's get out of here. I don't think that Wolfram and Hart will be throwing anything else at us for a while but it would still be best to move. Out of this rain for a start. Come on, let's go inside."

"I do not understand," William said. "I appreciate that taking shelter from the rain would be advisable, but I do not know where I am, nor what has taken place here." He frowned. "Your accent is unusual. Are you a Colonial? An Australian, perhaps?"

"Quit playing stupid games, Spike," the man growled. "I'm not in the mood."

The blue-haired woman tilted her head to one side. "This is not Spike. I detect a heartbeat."

William's mouth gaped open. Her words were so incomprehensible that he was temporarily deprived of the power of speech.

"What the hell?" The man's head lowered and he stared at William. "My God. You're right. He's alive. He got the Shanshu."

"Your prophesied reward?" the woman enquired. "I believe that you are correct. His body temperature is within human parameters, taking into account the weather conditions. He is a living human and not a half-breed."

"That's not fair!" the man complained. "Yeah, I signed it away, but I never thought that Spike would get it. You took my Shanshu. Damn you!"

"I beg your pardon?" William managed to say. "I do not believe that I have any of your possessions, but I must confess that I do not recollect how I came to be wearing these garments. If I am indeed in possession of your shoes I should be only too pleased to return them." He looked up and down the tall figure. "Yet surely any footwear of yours would be far too large for me. I think there must be some mistake."

"What are you…?" The man started to speak with anger in his tone that faded away as his lofty brow began to furrow. "William? Is that you?"

"You know me, then? You have the advantage of me, I fear."

"William? You don't remember me?" The man clapped a hand to his forehead. "You must have been restored to the very instant of your death. What's the last thing that you remember? Before you woke up here, that is."

"My death?" William shook his head. "How can I have died?"

"Please, William, just answer the question."

"Very well. I remember that I had suffered an unpleasant rebuff and left the Underwoods' residence in haste. I walked out into the street and sought a place where none could stare upon me." William's brow furrowed. "I saw you. We collided in the street, did we not? I took little notice, being somewhat distraught, but I remember now. You were with two ladies. One of them was… her. The woman who approached me in the alleyway."

He gave a little nervous laugh. "I had the strangest of fancies. I must have slept, and dreamed, for I believed that she turned into a monster and bit me upon the neck. Am I to understand that we have become acquainted since that collision? Were we caught up in some street affray? A riot, perhaps, like those that regrettably occurred at Rotherham prior to the election? I must have been struck upon the head, for I have no recollection of any such events, nor of our having exchanged names."

"Uh, William, I, uh, this is hard," the man said, dithering. "Oh, hell, come into the hotel out of the rain. This is going to take a long time to explain. Oh, and my name is Angel."

"Very well," William agreed. He didn't feel that he had much choice, and the rain was indeed unpleasant. "Lead on, then, Mr Angel."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Mr Angel led William to a door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. He put his hand to a tiny lever that was fitted into the wall and flicked it. A brilliant light suddenly sprang up and illuminated the room. It also revealed that Mr Angel was dishevelled, soaked to the skin, and smeared with blood from a dozen small wounds and cuts.

"Come on in," Mr Angel urged. William advanced slowly into the room. It appeared to be a public building, perhaps a hotel, rather than a private residence. It was deserted and a film of dust covered most of the furniture and fittings. It was, however, dry.

William stared in utter amazement at the source of the brilliant light. "Heavens!" he exclaimed. "Are those electric incandescent filament lights? Wonder of wonders! I have read of such, of course, but I have never seen them."

"Oh, God," Mr Angel said, in a voice that seemed to carry a note of anguish. "I can't do this."

"There is no Wesley to serve as Qwa'ha Xahn," the strangely garbed woman spoke from behind William. "If my former pet needs instruction it can only come from you."

William turned to ask the woman what she meant by this incomprehensible speech. He gasped in horror as he saw that she held a body in her arms. Dead, indubitably, gashed and bloody with eyes open and staring sightlessly at nothing. The corpse had the dark skin of an African. A Zulu, perhaps, for William somehow sensed that the man had been a warrior in life. He took two steps backwards to put some distance between him and the dreadful sight.

The woman turned her eyes upon him. He noticed that her hair was indeed blue, as were her eyes, and that the skin of her forehead bore a blue mottling. Her leather apparel was gashed in more than one place but she did not appear to be wounded. "We must inter Charles with suitable honour," she said. "You have forgotten him? He was your comrade. Your friend. He fell at your side. To recoil from him insults his memory."

"I am sorry," William said. "If such is the case I have indeed forgotten. I most sincerely regret this and I did not intend discourtesy." He felt an odd glow inside, an unfamiliar feeling that might have been pride, at the idea that someone with the unmistakable air of a warrior had been a comrade who had fallen bravely in battle at his side. Preposterous, of course. No such events could have taken place. Even so he raised his hand to his head to remove his hat as a gesture of respect. His hand encountered only hair. He wore no hat.

The woman laid the dead body down upon a chaise-lounge. "We shall inter him later. First you must give Spike the information that will enable him to function." She tipped her head first to one side and then to the other. "I lack the necessary knowledge without calling upon the resources of the shell. I sense that you would not wish me to do that."

"Damn right," Mr Angel said to the woman. "Okay, okay, I'll fill him in." He waved a hand in the direction of a chair. "You might want to sit down for this, William. It's going to be a lot to take in."

William sat down and looked at Mr Angel with some trepidation. "Your manner disturbs me. I sense that you are going to give me some bad news. Is it…?" William swallowed hard. "Has something happened to my mother?"

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Disclaimer: the characters in this story do not belong to me but are being used for amusement only and all rights remain with Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the writers of the original episodes, and the TV and production companies responsible for the original television shows. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER ©2002 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. ANGEL ©2001 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All Rights Reserved. The ANGEL trademark is used without express permission from Fox. All Rights Reserved. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer trademark is used without express permission from Fox. Some dialogue is taken from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 5 episode 'Fool For Love' written by Douglas Petrie.


	2. Chapter 2

William shook his head. "No," he said, continuing to shake his head as he spoke, "this cannot be. It is madness. You are playing some trick upon me. I was rendered senseless and you have carried me some distance away as I slept."

"I'm sorry, William," Mr Angel said. "Look, I know this is a shock for you, but I swear I'm not playing any trick. It really is two thousand and four. Tuesday May the eleventh. Well, Wednesday the twelfth, strictly speaking, seeing as how it's after midnight. I could go to a newsstand, get a paper, and show you."

"You are either insane or a scoundrel. What can you hope to gain by such preposterous falsehoods?"

Mr Angel heaved a sigh. "I've nothing to gain. I don't need this. I really, really, don't need this." He raised his hand and put three outspread fingers against his forehead. His little finger wiggled as if it was lost and looking for its siblings. "What I want to do is go to bed and sleep for a week. Not try to give a recap of the past hundred and twenty years to – God, I don't even know what to call you."

"William Pratt," William reminded the extremely strange man. Was he a lunatic or had he partaken of opium? The tale that he had related could only have come from a disturbed mind or from one under the influence of narcotics.

"All those years and I never knew your surname," Mr Angel said, almost in a whisper.

William stood up, uneasily because in so doing he drew slightly closer to the madman, and moved quickly to put himself further away. "I really must be going," he said. "My mother will be worried. Thank you for your kindness, in allowing me to come in out of the rain, but I must go."

"Go where? You think you're in London? You're in Los Angeles, California. Five and a half thousand miles from London. And your mother has been dead for a hundred and twenty years." The tall man swallowed. "I'm sorry to put it so bluntly, William. Look, you have to understand, the world that you knew is gone. You need to learn about the modern world to survive."

"I think that you need the services of a medical practitioner," William said. "I shall see if Doctor Gull would be willing to call upon you." To reach the way by which he had come in William would have had to pass close to Mr Angel and the strange woman with the blue hair. That could be dangerous if the lunatics turned violent. In the other direction, however, lay a double door set with large panes of frosted glass. It appeared to lead to the exterior of the building. William walked hurriedly in that direction. "Goodbye," he called.

"William, wait!" Mr Angel called. Suddenly he was beside William. "Don't go out there. You're not ready." He put a hand upon William's shoulder.

"Unhand me, sir!" William commanded. The command was obeyed, rather to his surprise, and the tall man withdrew his hand.

"I lost my memory a while back," Mr Angel said. "I thought I was back in Galway in seventeen fifty-three. I walked out through that door. Ten seconds later I fled back into the hotel screaming. Now, you came from London in eighteen eighty, and you're used to gas lights, you'll have seen railroad trains, ridden on them. Hey, you might even have seen a horseless carriage. I guess the culture shock won't be quite as huge. But what waits for you out there is still going to be like nothing you've ever imagined."

William hesitated. Mr Angel was insane, there could be no doubt, but his tone and manner were not threatening in the least. He seemed rather to be exhibiting concern for William's welfare. Perhaps there was no immediate cause for alarm, but humouring the lunatic seemed to be the wisest course for the moment. "I shall take care," William promised. He stepped towards the door again. Mr Angel made no attempt to intervene. The woman did not move, but merely watched, her head tipped to one side in a fashion that made her appear oddly like a bird.

William opened the door and stepped out into a small garden in which neglected flower beds were surrounded by low stone walls. He walked through the garden towards a street. A road, rather, and one of astounding width. He had never seen a street so wide. There were none such in London, of that he was sure. Perhaps some part of Mr Angel's fanciful tale was indeed true. It was said that the streets in the Cape Colony were laid out to enable a team of oxen to turn around with ease. Was that were William had found himself? Or was Mr Angel's claim that they were in California the very truth? Surely not.

The street was brightly illuminated. The lampposts were of almost impossible height. The lamplighter's pole required would be too long for any human to wield. No, they must be electric arc lights, like those at the Embankment and Holborn Viaduct, rather than gas; although their light was softer and more constant than the arc lights at the Embankment. William shook his head and frowned. He continued to walk towards the street, albeit with a growing feeling of nervousness. He was definitely not in any district with which he was at all familiar. He would have to summon a cab in order to return home. Did he still have his purse?

William began to fumble in his pockets. Some keys that he did not recognise. A small rectangular metallic object. Some coins. Ah, good. He withdrew a few coins and was about to examine them when something on the road caught his eye.

Bright lights, approaching fast. As fast as a train. It was a vehicle of some kind – good Lord! It was a horseless carriage! And what a carriage. Fast and quiet, with a passenger compartment entirely enclosed in glass and no driver outside, sleeker even than the newest railway locomotive designs by the celebrated Mr William Dean of the Great Western Railway, it was a mechanical contrivance the like of which he had never imagined.

The coins fell unheeded from William's hand. He stood and stared, his mouth wide open in amazement, as this marvellous machine sped past without pausing and disappeared into the distance. Suddenly William felt a sensation of alarm, almost panic, and he began to breathe rapidly and deeply without knowing why. He turned about and made haste back towards the building – a hotel, Mr Angel had called it – and re-entered through the double doors. His head began to swim and he sat down with the utmost alacrity on the nearest chair.

"I have seen a remarkable sight," he announced. He gave a little nervous laugh, then another, and found that he was unable to stop. His laughter grew louder and more shrill, his sensations of alarm grew more acute, and suddenly he was not laughing but crying and gasping for breath all at the same time.

Mr Angel hovered at his side, his forehead furrowed, his lips turned down. He raised and lowered his hand in indecisive fashion.

The blue-haired woman's head tipped to the side, first one way, and then the other. "He hyperventilates," she said. "The shell's memories contain information on the condition. It is customary to regulate the breathing of a sufferer by placing a brown paper bag over his mouth and nasal orifices. I do not know why the colour of the bag is of relevance."

"Don't call her 'the shell'," Mr Angel rebuked the woman. "She was Fred."

"Winifred Burkle. I am aware of her identity. Shall we utilise a brown paper bag in the manner that I suggest?"

"I don't have a paper bag, brown or otherwise." Mr Angel's frown grew more pronounced. "Unless there's something in the medical kit that I stashed here, or maybe in with the food packages. I just asked Harmony to make them up for me."

"Your Qwa'ha Xahn is efficient in such matters," the woman said, nodding her head. "Summon her here. She can attend to the care of this unsatisfactory specimen who has taken the place of my pet."

Mr Angel cupped his hand over William's mouth and held it there for a moment. William managed to gain some control over his breathing and it returned to a normal rhythm. Mr Angel took his hand away and turned his attention back to the woman. "Harmony is not my Qwa'ha Xahn, Illyria," he told her. "She betrayed me."

"A serious flaw in a Qwa'ha Xahn," the woman – Illyria? – acknowledged. "A greater flaw than was the unfortunate fragility of mine." Her eyebrows descended. "Yet your plan was formulated on the prediction that she would betray you. Is that not correct? Therefore she was carrying out your wishes, even if not consciously doing so, and thus her status as Qwa'ha Xahn is unchanged." Her eyebrows resumed their normal station and she nodded her head in apparent satisfaction. William was again struck by the resemblance of her motions to those of a bird.

"You can't seriously be suggesting that I bring Harmony here to look after William?" The crease between Mr Angel's brows deepened to Cheddar Gorge proportions.

"I don't need anyone to 'look after' me," William protested. "I received something of a shock, that is all. I saw a horseless carriage of quite remarkable appearance. No doubt it was a product of those Yankee inventors who are so renowned for their ingenuity, such as the famed Mr Otis, the celebrated Doctor Gatling, and the remarkable Mr Thomas Edison. It was silly of me to be alarmed."

"It was," Illyria agreed. "You are a weak and foolish human. A sorry specimen to have taken the place of the pet who amused and entertained me. The exchange is not in our favour. To be so distressed by a transition of a mere one hundred and twenty years is pathetic. I slept for millennia. The ice sheets retreated and the sea rose to swallow much of what had been my kingdom. My legions died and became dust. What do you have to face? Only some minor advances in technology. Your reaction disgusts me."

"Illyria…" Mr Angel said. His tone seemed to carry a reproof.

"For the sake of my pet Spike, who shared your form, I will put aside my disgust," Illyria continued. "He was entertaining." Her head swayed in a fashion more akin to a serpent than to a bird and then was still once more. "He showed me how to play Crash Bandicoot and this served to occupy my mind when I brooded upon my own diminished status. Perhaps you should also play Crash Bandicoot."

William could not even begin to comprehend her speech and decided to ignore it. He fixed his gaze upon Mr Angel, who seemed more rational than the woman Illyria, and spoke. "I believe that I heard you mention food? I am loath to further presume upon you, but I am feeling rather hungry."

Mr Angel slapped himself on the forehead. "Stupid. I stashed the stuff here just in case by some million to one chance we survived and needed it. We did, we do, and I haven't done anything about it. I'll get you some food, William."

"I require nourishment also," Illyria said. "My expenditure of energy was great. I must replenish." She cocked her head to one side. "Are there… tacos?"

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

The sandwiches were contained within a packaging unlike anything that William had ever seen before. As transparent as glass and yet flexible withal. He marvelled at the sight, but only briefly, as a gnawing hunger took precedence. The sandwiches within the extraordinary containers were sliced with an uncanny precision. He did not stop to wonder at that detail but tucked in with a will. The fillings were unusual; neither ham, nor tongue, nor beef, nor even cucumber, but prawns, lettuce leaves, and an unrecognizable dressing. In other circumstances the oddity might have given him pause, but not now; hunger took precedence over all else and he devoured the sandwiches with alacrity.

Such sandwiches cried out for the accompaniment of a cup of tea. There was none available. Only coffee, but that served well enough in a pinch, and William ate and drank until he was replete.

Illyria did the same. Mr Angel, however, ate no food. He drank some red coloured liquid, a beef broth no doubt, which he claimed was blood. He was still stubbornly maintaining the preposterous fiction about vampires and the passage of a century.

"This is the last of the otter," he said to Illyria. "When it's gone I'm back on the plain pig's blood. I'm not looking forward to that. I'm kind of spoiled. Maybe your idea that I should ask Harmony to join up with us again isn't totally dumb. She was useful for things like that."

"Such is the purpose of minions," Illyria agreed. "Summon her. There are menial tasks that I would have her perform."

Mr Angel's eyes rolled. "What, now?"

"I care not. This form is in need of rest. Further discussion must wait. Is this place secure against further attack?"

"There are a few wards. Nothing that would keep Wolfram and Hart out," Mr Angel admitted. "But then I never expected to survive the night anyway. We're ahead of the game even if they kill us in our sleep."

Now that the pangs of hunger were stilled William was hit by a wave of exhaustion. He yawned. Sleep was becoming a pressing necessity and even the disturbing circumstances and the presence of the two eccentrics would not stave it off for much longer. "I wonder, sir, if there might be somewhere that I might stay for the night?" he asked. "I am overcome by weariness."

"Hey, of course," Mr Angel said. "I should have thought of it myself. Sorry. I'll show you to a room. You too, Illyria. And then I'll do something about Gunn." His eyes went to the body of the dead man who still lay upon a couch. "Not that I know what to do. Do we involve the police? This is all one hell of a mess. If we'd all died it would have been…" His eyes suddenly widened. He strode quickly to the corpse and examined its neck. "Oh, God. Oh, no. That is just… the final touch of total and utter shit." His shoulders sagged and his eyes screwed up tightly.

"He did not succumb to his injuries as I thought?" Illyria enquired.

"Nope. Worst case scenario. He would – I'll deal with it. Stay here while I get William settled, okay?"

"I understand. I shall watch over Charles. My need for rest can be postponed."

"What has happened?" William asked. He sensed that something about the corpse had caused distress to the insane, but kindly, Mr Angel.

"Nothing that you need to worry about, William," Mr Angel told him. "Come on. I'll find you a bedroom."

William was led up a flight of stairs to a bedroom. Mr Angel showed him the room, and a small adjoining room that contained a water closet and washing facilities, and then departed. William spent some moments simply operating the switch that lit the electric incandescent light, flicking it back and forth and marvelling at the device, but then cold and weariness took control once more and he began to undress.

On taking off his coat he discovered that he was wearing a pair of workman's denim trousers and a collarless shirt of woven cotton with short sleeves. He removed his boots and then the trousers. The undergarment that was revealed beneath was of diminutive size and strange pattern. The material was unknown to him, soft and stretchable, and he had never seen the like. He examined the garment for a moment before removing it. It was so small that it seemed barely worth the wearing. It could hardly have been more different from the underwear with which he was familiar.

Once naked he removed himself to the small room and used the toilet facilities. The water closet was plain, devoid of the customary decoration, but flushed with remarkable efficiency. Hot water gushed forth from one of the taps. There were large and soft towels to hand and he made use of them to dry his hair, drenched from the rain, and his body, for his garments had become soaked through and the dampness had penetrated to his skin. And then he saw himself in the mirror.

His jaw dropped open. His hair had changed colour. It was blond. So fair that it was almost white. And his body…

His torso rippled with wiry muscle. William had not indulged in physical exercise for a long time, not since he had played a little cricket at University, and his waistline had begun to soften and acquire a modicum of, well, fat. All had gone. He flexed his muscles and posed in front of the mirror for a moment. Why, he was quite the handsome fellow! His eyes widened and he put his fingers to his eyebrow. Where had that scar come from? And, for that matter, how could he see it so plainly? His sight was as keen as if he wore his spectacles. Keener, even. What had happened?

William retreated from the small room in some confusion. His head was in a whirl. Yet fatigue was becoming ever more the dominant force. He crawled into the bed both to seek refuge from the increasingly bewildering things that he saw and to seek oblivion in sleep. The bedding was unaired but he cared not. The 'light switch' was accessible from the bed; he operated it, plunged the room into darkness, and settled down to sleep. Surely, when he awoke in the morning, all this strangeness would be gone and he would be back in his own familiar bed. This had to be but a dream. There could be no other explanation. It would all be put right in the morning.

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Angel wept as he wielded the axe to remove Charles Gunn's head.


	3. Chapter 3

William stirred and woke. He could hear a strange sound. It wasn't loud enough to have been responsible for waking him but, now that he was awake, it was hard to ignore it. A strange murmur, somewhere between the buzzing of bees and a roar, rising and falling irregularly. He opened one eye. An instant later he opened the other eye and sat up. Where was he? This was not his bedroom.

Memories flooded back. The party, the poetry, the taunts, Cecily's brutal rejection, his flight into the night, the alley, the beautiful woman, the other alley, the eccentric Mr Angel and the madwoman with blue hair. The fantastic story that they had told. The remarkable machine that had sped past him and alarmed him so greatly. William shook his head. He recollected that he had gone to bed believing that he was merely dreaming and that he would undoubtedly awake in his own familiar bed at home. Alas, such was not the case. He had been away all night. Mother would be worried. At least it was now day-time and he would be able to find his way home.

He became aware that certain bodily functions required attention. He slid his legs out of the bed and stood up. He was naked. There had been no nightshirt and his clothes had been wet. He had had no option but to go to bed unclad. His nakedness made more apparent a manifestation of another bodily urge. William looked down at the unruly appendage with horror. How would he be able to relieve himself in such a state? He would dampen the very ceiling!

His hand went to the offending organ and closed around it. No, that would be sinful, and should be the last resort. Perhaps an application of cold water would serve to tame the disobedient member. He set off towards the room that held the toilet facilities but then changed his mind.

The sound was coming from outside the window. He could not immediately relieve himself, in this state, and so it would do no harm to delay long enough to investigate the sound's source. He went to the window, put his eye to the dividing line between the curtains, and pulled them open a mere crack so that he did not expose himself to any eyes from outside the building.

His jaw dropped. His eyes became enormous circles. He forgot entirely about his nakedness, and his state of arousal, and he pulled the curtains wider apart. Astounding!

The noise was emanating from horseless carriages travelling along the nearby road. Scores of them. Black ones, white ones, blue, red, silver. Smooth, sleek, shiny. Most were about the size of a Phaeton carriage, with a few the size of a dog cart, and an occasional one vastly larger. Colossal vehicles bigger than any railway wagon, yet travelling upon the open road, with enormous letters upon their huge sides spelling out mysterious words such as 'FedEx' and 'Ralphs' and 'Arco'. Something that must have been an omnibus, with half a dozen windows along its side, yet far more akin to a railway carriage than to any vehicle that could have been drawn by a team of horses. It even bore the legend 'big blue bus', ungrammatically lacking a capital letter, upon its sides.

There were wide pavements to each side of the macadamised road. It was a sunny day. Yet the street was almost devoid of walkers. Everyone, it seemed, travelled by carriage. William gawped at the clothing of those few people on foot that were within his sight. Such bright colours – and the women wore such short skirts! Surely they could not all be streetwalkers.

One of the people in the street turned a head towards William's window. He was suddenly conscious of his state of undress and stepped back hastily, releasing his grasp on the curtains and allowing them to close. He pressed a hand to his forehead. "Good Lord," he muttered. "Such sights! Who could have imagined such things? Surely not even Monsieur Jules Verne at his most ingenious. Is the story that Mr Angel related to me in truth sober fact? Have I fallen down some rabbit hole into a very Wonderland?"

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

The clothes that William had discarded on the previous night had dried out overnight but were hardly fresh. William shuddered but had no choice but to don them. The ingenious fastenings of the denim trousers intrigued him; he spent a couple of minutes pulling the metal tab up and down and watching the cunningly shaped metal teeth engaging and disengaging. Quite remarkable. Eventually he tired of this and left the room.

William descended the stairs and emerged into the atrium. There was no-one there. This hotel, if such it were, seemed to have no staff. There had to be servants somewhere, stoking the boilers that must be providing the floods of hot water from the taps, but there was no other sign of their presence. It appeared that no-one had dusted the place in months.

He could hear voices from a side room and headed in that direction. In the room he found Mr Angel, Illyria, and a stranger. A woman clad in clothes that were crisp, and elegant, but nonetheless shocking. Why, her skirt descended hardly lower than her knees!

The woman turned as he entered and fixed him with a curiously penetrating gaze. "And this is the Shanshu recipient, I take it," she remarked. "It could have been you, Angel. How does that make you feel?"

"To be honest, I'm not so sure that I missed out," Mr Angel told her. "I don't think I'd want it. Not that way." He smiled at William. "Good morning, Spike, uh, William. Are you feeling okay? Got to grips with what I told you last night yet?"

"I have seen such wonders," William replied. "I am forced to accept that there may indeed be some validity in your incredible tale. I am in a state of some confusion and bewilderment as yet. In truth I know not what to believe. For the present I can only allow my mind to dwell upon such mundane necessities as my need for clean clothing. And for food, if you can spare any. Although I must confess that I know not how I will be able to repay you."

"Don't worry about it, William," Mr Angel said. "We'll sort something out. There'll be clean clothes over at Spike's apartment, I guess."

"I can take him," Illyria volunteered. "There is Crash Bandicoot there also."

"I'll find you something to eat in a little while," Mr Angel offered.

"That would be most kind," William said. He looked at the newly arrived woman. "Good morning. Am I addressing Miss, or Mrs, Harmony?"

Mr Angel burst into laughter. Illyria smiled for the first time since William had met her in the alley. The woman, on the other hand, was obviously not amused.

"Lilah Morgan," she introduced herself. "I represent Wolfram and Hart."

William's eyebrows shot up and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself from taking a step backwards. Wolfram and Hart, if he recalled correctly, were enemies of Mr Angel and Illyria. Perhaps his own enemies, if he accepted the validity of Mr Angel's tale. However this was a meeting rather than an attack, and there seemed to be no reason for him to feel alarm. He scrutinised her fingers and saw no rings. "How do you do, Miss Morgan? I am William Pratt."

"I know," Miss Morgan replied. "The White Knight who has just become a pawn. That's not something you see all that often. Kinda amusing. Enjoy the twenty-first century, William. Or not; I don't care one way or the other. Spike never signed any contract with Wolfram and Hart so you're no concern of mine." She turned away from him, her cold smile switching off as abruptly as one of the incandescent lamps, and her obvious dismissal of him as unimportant reminded William unpleasantly of Cecily's 'you're beneath me'.

"I think that our business is just about concluded," Miss Morgan said to Mr Angel. "You're a back number now. Just another warrior. No prophecies, no destiny, no reason for us to avoid killing you. No reason why we should go out of our way to finish you off either. You're not a major player any more. Small time. You can go back to helping the helpless or the hopeless or whatever. All two and a half of you."

"We stopped the Apocalypse," Mr Angel said. "That's something."

"You stopped _an_ Apocalypse. There'll always be another one around the corner." Miss Morgan's tone changed. "For what it's worth, Angel – I hated you, but I always respected you. You did alright. And I'm sorry about Wesley."

"Do not profane his name with your unworthy lips," Illyria snapped.

"It's okay, Illyria. She means it." Mr Angel nodded at Miss Morgan. "Thanks. I guess I respected you as well."

"And hated me. I know. I don't suppose we'll meet again, other than in Hell. I could say that it's been nice knowing you but we both know I'd be lying. Goodbye, Angel."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Breakfast was made up of coffee and the last of Mr Angel's store of sandwiches. It was accompanied by a marvel that eclipsed everything that William had yet seen.

A mysterious box with a glass front on which were displayed the most incredible moving images and from which came the sounds of speech and music. Infinitely superior to a camera obscura. "I should have thought of this last night," Mr Angel remarked. "I wasn't exactly thinking all that straight. If this doesn't convince you that this is two thousand and four then I guess nothing will."

"Remarkable," William said. "Are those scenes of reality?"

"Some are, some are plays." Mr Angel lifted a metallic object set with numerous buttons and pressed one with his thumb. The picture changed. "That's a play." Another change. "A talk show. Real people, but not the kind of people you're used to." He changed the picture again. Brightly coloured drawings moved upon the glass as if they were alive. "Cartoons. Mainly for kids." Another change. "That's the local news."

"Stop," Illyria commanded. "I desire to see this."

Mr Angel's eyebrows ascended. "You want to watch the news? I thought the doings of humans were beneath you."

"The shell was to have been there," Illyria said. "I wish to see why. Silence!"

"Huh?" Mr Angel's brow furrowed. His mouth opened to speak again but he was then in receipt of a ferocious glare from the blue-haired woman and he closed it with the words unsaid.

Illyria cocked her head to one side and stared at the box of moving pictures. She listened intently as a man spoke. William understood little of what was said. The words 'Los Angeles Convention Centre' were clear, but most of the rest was gibberish. Something was said about games, scenes appeared of people dressed in costumes that were outlandish beyond belief, and he heard many words that he did not understand at all. He did not dare to enquire as to their meaning, as he did not wish Illyria to direct upon him a look of such ferocity as she had turned upon Mr Angel, and so he concentrated upon his sandwiches and coffee until the pictures on the glass screen changed and the man began to talk of other matters.

"I shall attend," Illyria announced in tones that brooked no contradiction. "I understand the shell's desire. There are games that are more violent than Crash Bandicoot. I would examine them."

"Uh, you could just go to a game store," Mr Angel suggested. "But, okay, I don't suppose that it would do any harm. It's probably the one place in town where you won't raise a single eyebrow. In fact, for the next few days, everyone will just assume that you're an attendee regardless of where they meet you." His eyes widened suddenly. "And the same applies to all sorts of demons. If any of them are smart enough to take advantage of that opportunity, well, there could be some chaos going on and people in danger."

"A chance to do more violence," Illyria said, with apparent satisfaction. "Good."

"You won't do any violence without my say-so," Mr Angel said sharply. "I don't want you jumping some nerd dressed up as Lieutenant Worf or whatever."

"As you wish." Illyria's head rotated to point at William. "The human has consumed his nourishment. I shall escort him to Spike's dwelling to obtain fresh clothing. Afterwards I shall seek out the Los Angeles Convention Centre and view this 'E3'."

"Yeah, okay. And then come back here." Mr Angel put a hand inside his jacket and drew out a wallet. "You'll need money." He extracted several banknotes and handed them to the woman.

The sight reminded William that he had a wallet of his own inside the leather coat. He pulled it out and opened it. There were banknotes within, bearing the legend 'The United States of America'. He added up their values and was astonished. Three hundred and eighty dollars. Why, that was more than seventy-five pounds!

There were no calling cards. In their place were peculiar items of similar size and shape but made of a thin rigid material. One bore a picture of his own face, of such clarity that it must have been a photograph, yet in lifelike colours. The words 'California driver license' was printed upon it, together with other words and letters the meaning of which was not clear. There was a name upon it but it was not his own. 'William Neville'. The same name was upon another mysterious 'card' that bore the legends 'Union Bank of California' and 'VISA', together with many numbers. William frowned, perplexed. He could not imagine what purpose it might serve. Two other similar items occupied other slots within the wallet.

"I wouldn't bother with those for now," Mr Angel advised him. "Just use cash if you want to buy anything." He handed William several more banknotes each to the value of a hundred dollars. An enormous sum!

Use cash? Were these devices some strange form of money? William could not conceive of how they might be used. Mr Angel's suggestion, that he use only the banknotes, was eminently sensible. It would take time to adjust to this strange environment. There was no point in trying to learn everything all at once.

"I thank you," William said. "I know not how I can ever repay you."

Mr Angel smiled. "Don't worry about it. It's my job to help the helpless, and right now you fall into that category."

"If I might ask, what is your profession?"

"I'm a private investigator. A consulting detective, you could say, like Sherlock Holmes." Mr Angel made the announcement as if it were an adequate answer to William's question.

"Sherlock Holmes?" William repeated blankly.

"Oh, yeah, that was later. Uh, Auguste Dupin?"

William nodded. "Ah, yes, I believe I understand."

"Not that I can match the feats of deduction," Mr Angel went on. "Mainly I protect people from demons and vampires. The police don't believe in them so they don't help. If someone has a problem with a ghost or a demon they come to me."

"Of all the things that you have told me that is the hardest for me to believe," William told him. "It is evident that I am not in the world with which I am familiar, true, but the explanation that you have given me is frankly incredible. Vampires are the stuff of fiction, extravagant works such as 'Varney the Vampire' or 'Carmilla', and it is quite impossible that I could have been transformed into such a creature. I may have slept in some miraculous fashion for a great period of time, as if I was Rip Van Winkle, but that is all."

"I guess I'll just have to show you," Mr Angel said. "Look, William, don't get alarmed, okay? This is just a demonstration. I don't mean you any harm."

"Very well, show me," William challenged.

Mr Angel's forehead rippled. Ridges appeared. His nose seemed to shrink and move upwards. His eyes turned yellow. He opened his mouth and revealed fangs like those of a wild beast.

"Good Lord!" William exclaimed. He felt his jaw drop. For a moment he was struck completely speechless. Then Mr Angel shook his head and his face resumed the appearance of a normal man. William breathed in deeply. "Good Lord!" he repeated. "I, ah, is there, would you perhaps have such a thing as a glass of brandy?"

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

The dwelling that had belonged to 'Spike' was a basement flat. Small, gloomy, and with little in the way of furniture. It did contain a glass-fronted box that resembled the one in Mr Angel's hotel cum house cum office. Illyria sat down immediately upon a worn sofa and faced the box. She occupied herself with a peculiar device with hand-grips and buttons. Pictures appeared upon the screen; drawings that moved. It appeared that Illyria was controlling their motion in some way.

William did not attempt to divine the purpose behind her actions. He contented himself with a search for clothing. In a wardrobe he discovered several leather coats identical to the one that he wore. There were no other jackets and he grimaced in displeasure. The coat had proved to be hot and uncomfortable as he walked in the bright sunshine.

In a chest of drawers he found several more pairs of black denim trousers. More of the collarless shirts, all in black or charcoal grey. One proper shirt with long sleeves and a collar, but it was red; a most inappropriate colour for a gentleman, William felt. This 'Spike' had clearly not been a man of taste. He seized upon the red shirt nonetheless.

There were undergarments and socks. He gathered them up eagerly. He looked for a place where he could change his clothes but, other than a tiny toilet room that was barely more than a cupboard, there was only the one room. He cleared his throat.

"Ah, Miss?" he addressed Illyria. She did not react. "Illyria? Would you be so good as to wait outside for a short time? I wish to change my clothing."

"Then do so," Illyria replied. "I shall continue to play Crash Bandicoot."

"It would not be fitting to undress in the presence of a lady," William said.

Illyria did something with the device she held that caused the pictures upon the screen to freeze in place. Her head rotated to face him. "I have no interest in your naked form, William," she told him. "Were I a human female it might give me pleasure to gaze upon it. But I am not. Although your form is not unattractive." Her head tilted to one side. "Perhaps there would be a certain aesthetic satisfaction," she conceded. "It seems that the shell has had some influence upon my reaction to visual stimuli. Remove your clothing."

"Certainly not!" William spluttered. He could feel a hot blush spreading over his face.

"Then you must continue to wear your existing garments," Illyria said. She turned back to the glass screen and caused the pictures to resume their motion. "Gather up what you wish to wear. We shall return to the Hyperion and you may change there. I shall take the Xbox." She did something that caused the screen to go dark and swung to face William once more. "Your interruptions have caused me to lose a life. You delay my visit to E3. You refuse to show me your unclad form. Spike would not have refused my request. You are a poor substitute for my pet."

William winced. It seemed that even in the far future he was doomed to be a disappointment to women. He was also struck by a feeling that he was a liability to Mr Angel. The consulting detective had been the very model of politeness, and his solicitude towards William was undoubted, but how could William repay him? He could not join the vampire in fighting against demons. His lack of knowledge of this world made it impossible for William to contribute in other, less physical, ways to the business. His fortune, such as it was, had no doubt been disposed of many years before. He was merely a drain upon Mr Angel's time and resources, whereas 'Spike' had been a comrade and fellow warrior.

A warrior whose great deeds had earned him the reward of being returned to life, or so Mr Angel had said, but William frowned as he realised that there was a paradox implicit in the way that events had transpired. Spike was gone. It was William who had received the reward and yet he had done nothing to deserve it. Was that justice?

Illyria was growing impatient. William put aside the philosophical question, gathered up his chosen clothing, and they departed.


	4. Chapter 4

"If you get separated from Illyria, don't wander off," Mr Angel instructed William. "Stay where you are. Wait for her to find you. Whatever you do don't leave with anyone else."

William pouted. "Please. I am a grown man. You treat me as if I were a child."

"You're out of your element. Okay, nine out of ten people you come across will be perfectly decent. The tenth will cut your throat for a dollar. And you just don't have the knowledge and the experience to know which is which."

"I am fully competent," William insisted. "Is not Illyria also a stranger in this world? Surely her knowledge is not so much greater than mine."

"True," Mr Angel admitted, "but knives break on her skin and she's strong enough to punch holes through a brick wall. I don't have to worry about her, just about anybody dumb enough to try to take advantage of her. I worry about you, William."

William had been standing up very straight but now he allowed his shoulders to slump. "I know, and I am grateful, but I must confess that I am at a loss to know why you are so concerned. You act as if we are friends. Truly, I would value your friendship, but I have done nothing to earn it. I am not Spike."

"I know, but…" Mr Angel sighed. "Spike wasn't my friend. Not really. We argued, we fought, we annoyed each other, we tried to kill each other – he even had me tortured once. I did things to him that were nearly as bad – hell, they were as bad. But when it came right down to it we stood together. We were family. Now he's gone and you're all that I have left of him. I owe it to him to take care of you."

William hesitated, uncertain of how to reply. Illyria did not give him time to collect his thoughts.

"We waste time," she said. "I shall go now. Come, or not. I care little."

"You might as well go," Mr Angel advised William. "I've arranged for some cleaners to come over this afternoon, so this place isn't going to be a haven of tranquillity. And the convention will probably be about as good an introduction to the twenty-first century as you're likely to get."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Illyria's forehead seemed to be set in a permanent frown. She stalked through the convention centre glaring at the demonstration stands. "This is inefficient," she grumbled. "They display games that cannot be purchased. One must seek out human females with insufficient clothing in order to find games that are available. This makes no sense. I have seen Halo 2 and it is good. I want it now, not in November."

William trailed along in her wake. He understood perhaps half of what was going on, at most, but he was enjoying himself nonetheless. His parents had told him about their visit to the Great Exhibition in 1851, and he supposed that their experiences must have been in some ways similar, but there were sights and costumes here the like of which they could never have imagined. Even at the displays of the savage Hottentots they would not have been confronted with so much exposed female skin.

He had already observed that the residents of Los Angeles wore clothing that would have been regarded as shockingly immodest in the London of his own time. Customs and mores had changed over a century and a quarter, and the people dressed in a manner suitable for the warm weather. The young women termed 'Booth Babes', however, wore costumes that went far beyond anything that he had seen thus far. Had they appeared at the Great Exhibition they would have inspired attacks of the vapours and bouts of apoplexy far and wide. Their very, ahem, belly buttons were exposed!

At first William struggled to avert his eyes, blushing at the sight, but it did not take him long to become accustomed to the display. Their faces were far less interesting than their bodies, being fixed in false smiles, and he realised that they were merely employed to charm young men into buying the 'games'. From then on it became easy to ignore them, recognising that they were merely a part of the sellers' presentation, like the patter of hucksters selling patent medicines.

Illyria was far more interesting. Her manner was brusque, and her moods seemed to alternate only between disdain and annoyance, and yet he found that he enjoyed her company. He wondered if it would be possible to make her smile. She was the focus of many other admiring eyes besides his. On several occasions, when William lagged far enough behind her that it was not apparent that they were together, young men approached her and attempted to engage her in conversation. She rebuffed most of them in no uncertain terms. Only on one occasion did a young man meet with a rather different reception.

William's attention was caught by a remarkable display. On a large screen a battle from the ancient world was being re-enacted by figures drawn in remarkable detail. The battle of Asculum, William thought, as the Roman legions were organised into lines of hastati, principes, and triarii, and their opponents were pike phalanxes such as had made up the army of Pyrrhus. William had read of this battle in Plutarch's 'Lives', and in the chronicles of Livy, and he smiled at this sign that the Classics were still studied even in this age. He stood still, marvelling at the wonders that he saw portrayed on the screen, and he did not notice that Illyria had continued on her way without waiting for him.

William's mouth dropped open as awe overcame him. The figures marched and manoeuvred as if they were living men. Wonder of wonders! To control such forces must be the dream of any boy; tin soldiers upon the floor were as nothing to this. He was overcome with desire to experience the game at first hand. Could he prevail upon Illyria to purchase this 'Rome: Total War'? No, he could make the purchase himself rather than being dependent upon her. He made his way to the front of the demonstration stall and then saw a poster bearing the dread words 'Available September'. He could now understand Illyria's frustration, although he did not adopt a similar scowl, and he turned away disappointed. At that point he realised that Illyria was no longer with him and he scanned the crowds for the exotic woman. She had not gone very far, much to his relief, and he spotted her almost at once.

She was not alone. A young man had approached and was walking parallel to Illyria, smiling at her, and trying to catch her attention. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome, and his apparel was as exotic as Illyria's own. He was clad in a long leather coat, not dissimilar to the one that William still wore, but it had shining metal plates set into it at the shoulders. His hair was long and of a strange silvery hue. "Hey, I'm Sephiroth," the young man introduced himself, when it became apparent that Illyria was not going to speak first. "I don't recognise your costume. Wanna tell me about yourself?"

Illyria's head rotated towards him. "You appear to be a superior physical specimen," she declared. She halted in her tracks and the man followed suit. "It is possible that copulation with you might alleviate the feelings of loss that I am experiencing since the death of Wesley," she went on. "Remove your clothing so that I might assess your suitability."

"Huh?" The man called Sephiroth opened his eyes very wide. "What did you say?"

Illyria's head oscillated from side to side like a snake preparing to strike. "Your hair is artificial," she stated. "Are your other parts genuine?"

"I don't get the reference," the man said. "What game are you from?"

"I am Illyria, the God-King," she announced. "You may worship me."

Sephiroth's brow furrowed. "Still don't recognise it."

"I tire of this," Illyria said. "Depart from my presence, miserable human." She turned her back on the man and strode away. A couple of bystanders in the area laughed and a flush of colour appeared on Sephiroth's cheeks.

The man raised his arm and peered at a watch that he wore on a band about his wrist. "Hey, look at the time," he said. "The 'Devil May Cry 3' presentation is due. I'd better rush." He departed with as much dignity as he could muster.

William permitted himself a brief smile at the man's discomfiture and then hastened after Illyria. He caught her up within moments and engaged in a brief conversation about 'Rome: Total War'.

"It would have been of no use to you even had you been able to purchase it," Illyria pointed out. "It is not an Xbox game."

William's brow furrowed. He had no idea what she meant. "An Xbox game?" he echoed.

"The machines are of various types," Illyria explained. "Each type has its own games and cannot use games from another model. Some machines serve no purpose other than entertainment. Others can also carry out practical functions such as storing data and producing documents. The half-breed Harmony used such machines in her duties for Angel. There is such a machine at the Hyperion but it is not suitable for playing games." She tilted her head to one side and her mouth became a tight line. "That is inefficient," she decided. "I shall purchase a replacement that combines both functions. And I shall purchase 'Call of Duty'."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

It was late in the afternoon, and William was beginning to feel somewhat footsore, when they were approached by a second young man wearing a long coat. This one was not a superior physical specimen; he was no taller than William, slim of build almost to the point of being frail, and he had lank hair that flopped over his forehead. He showed no interest in Illyria but made directly for William. A huge smile spread across his face. "Spike!" he exclaimed. "Spike! It's you! You made it. I thought you were dead. I heard about what happened at Wolfram and Hart and I was so worried. You're safe. I'm so glad! Hey, I have to tell Buffy."

"I beg your pardon?" William said. "You have the advantage of me. Are we acquainted?"

"Uh, sorry," the man said. "I thought you were somebody I know. You look really like him." His eyes narrowed. "You even have the scar on the eyebrow. Spike? It is you. What are you playing at? You can't fool me."

Illyria glared at the man. "The shell knows you," she said. "Betrayer. You pretended friendship with Angel and then turned against him. You deserted Spike when he was badly injured. Leave William alone."

"I don't know you," the stranger told Illyria. "Hey, I never deserted Spike. I tried my best but I couldn't fight a Slayer so I went for help. Spike's my friend. Okay, I don't care about Angel, but I wouldn't let Spike down." He returned his attention to William. "Spike? Have you lost your memory or something? It's me. Andrew. Don't you know me?"


	5. Chapter 5

The pretty blonde girl's eyes were very wide as she looked at him. "So, I guess I call you William now, huh?"

"It is my name, Miss Kendall," William replied. He was a little unsure as to how he should address this girl. She was no lady of his own class, that was plain, and yet she was not a domestic servant either. Distinctions of class seemed to matter little in the America of this century and female emancipation had obviously advanced greatly since his time. The situation was further complicated by Mr Angel's revelation that there had been a romantic liaison of some sort between Harmony Kendall and Spike at one time. And, of course, by her being a vampire.

"Miss Kendall? Huh? What's with that?" Miss Kendall shook her head. "You've changed a whole lot. It's like you're a whole different person. I guess I can deal. Spike never treated me all that well, you know?" She sighed. "But I loved him anyway."

"I don't think that William really wants to know that, Harmony," Mr Angel put in.

"Don't worry, I won't try to make anything out of it," Harmony said. "It was totally over anyway. This will be, like, strictly business."

William frowned. Hearing that his other self had not behaved properly towards this girl was an unpleasant surprise. He could not lightly dismiss her assertion as stemming from the bitterness of a woman scorned, for her manner did not support that interpretation, and Mr Angel's words had not contradicted her.

"But hey, Angel, I don't want this 'looking after William' thing to be the whole of my job," Harmony went on, turning away from him and facing Mr Angel. "I was your PA for nearly a year and I was getting pretty darn good at it. Right? You even said so in the recommendation you gave me. So that's the job I want back. Okay, for Angel Investigations instead of Wolfram and Hart, and I guess I might have to take a salary hit on account of the business being smaller, only not too big a hit 'cause of having rent to pay and things, you know, but I want to do pretty much the same work. 'Cause you can be a bit of a doofus sometimes and you need somebody to keep you straight."

"I have Nina for that," Mr Angel said. He smiled as he said it, and the corners of Harmony's mouth turned up in an answering smile, seeming to carry a hint of amusement, as if Mr Angel had made a joke. "Okay, you're hired. At the same salary. Maybe not the same benefits package, but I'll see what I can do. And you can move into the hotel if you like. Rent free. It's not as if there aren't plenty of spare rooms."

"Oh, that is so cool," Harmony smiled. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. "You are so the best boss ever, Angel."

"Thanks. Oh, one thing, Harmony – no betraying me this time, okay?"

William's eyebrows rose on hearing those words. Harmony only smiled wider.

"No problem, boss," she said. "Third time's the charm, right? It means a whole lot to me that you took me back. I won't let you down. You can have confidence in me."

Mr Angel nodded. "You can start off by organising some blood supplies for both of us. Then I want you to make sure that William has everything that he needs. Spike got by on cigarettes, whiskey, black clothes, and punk rock, but William will need a little more than that."

Harmony clapped her hands together. "I can give him a makeover? Cool. Goodbye to the seventies and into the twenty-first century. I'll have him looking like he belongs here in no time. The first thing is to get rid of that coat."

"It is rather hot," William agreed, "however it does seem to be acceptable apparel in this time. I observed several people at the exhibition who were wearing similar coats."

"Well, yeah, but they were nerds, Spi-William," Harmony said. "It's just 'cause of The Matrix. Nobody cool dresses like that outside of winter. I'll get you clothes that are right for the weather. And hey, a haircut."

"No pink. No unicorns," Mr Angel cautioned.

"Well, duh," Harmony said, and she tossed her head. "Leave it to me, boss. This is gonna be fun."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Not bad," Mr Angel commented. "A big improvement on Spike's look."

Illyria made the figures on her screen freeze in place and then removed the earmuffs that enabled her to hear the game's sounds without disturbing the other people in the room. "Satisfactory," she gave her opinion. "Aesthetically pleasing and in accordance with the apparel of other humans in the locality. Perhaps I should adopt similarly inconspicuous garb on some occasions as a form of protective colouration. I dislike adopting the outward form of the shell unless it is a necessity."

"I could totally help you shop," Harmony volunteered.

"I will accept your assistance," Illyria said, her tone implying that she was granting a favour. She replaced her earmuffs, returned her attention to her game, and began once more to slaughter simulated German soldiers.

Mr Angel's eyebrows rose and fell. "Yeah, that could be interesting, and maybe useful. Same proviso as with William, Harmony; no unicorns, and no pink. Well, maybe a little pink, but not too much."

"Not much pink, check," Harmony agreed. "I did a good job on William, right, boss?"

"You did," Mr Angel said, and he nodded. "Very smart."

William smiled. He was delighted with the lightweight suit that Harmony had chosen for him, he had to admit, although it felt a little odd to be wearing a shirt open at the neck with no tie or cravat. "I am pleased that you approve, Mr Angel," he said.

"Please, William, drop the 'Mr', okay? Just call me Angel."

"Very well, ah, Angel," William replied. "I am extremely grateful to you. And to you, Harmony, for your invaluable assistance and advice."

"No problem," Harmony said. "It was fun. Spikey would never listen to me. I totally could have brought him up to date and he'd never let me." She looked at Illyria and her eyes narrowed. "Now, what goes with blue?"

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"How's it going?" Angel asked. "Have you gotten the hang of the twenty-first century yet?"

"I think that it will be a long time before this time ceases to amaze me," William said. "It is truly an age of wonders. Moving pictures come into the home from the other side of the world. Heavier-than-air flying machines traverse the skies. The Empire has disappeared. Man has walked upon the very moon above us. Every hour I come upon something that astounds me afresh."

"Holtz seemed to adjust in almost no time," Angel mused. William had no idea what he was talking about. "I guess he just wasn't interested in anything that didn't have to do with killing me. Or maybe Sahjahn was a better teacher than me."

"You have encountered someone else who was, ah, from the past?" William asked.

"It's a long story," Angel said. "And not a happy one for me. I might tell you some time."

"As you wish," William said. He sought for an alternative topic. "I cannot thank you enough for all that you have done for me. I only wish that there was some way in which I could repay you. I would dearly love to be able to make some worthy contribution to your endeavours. Alas, I fear that I would make but a poor show as a demon fighter."

"Don't worry about it. We can handle the demon fighting," Angel assured him. "Illyria's the best I've ever seen and even Harmony is more than a match for the average vampire. It's the other areas where we fall short at the moment. Research, translating ancient prophecies, that sort of thing. And the visions from the Powers That Be. It's going to be hard for us to manage without Cordelia and Wesley. You're not getting any visions of strange things happening, people in danger, that sort of thing, are you? Or the ability to read Etruscan?"

"No visions, I am afraid," William said. "I have no knowledge of Etruscan either. Only the usual Latin and Greek, a little Hebrew, and of course French."

"You know Latin and Greek?" Angel sat up very straight. "Really?"

"Well, yes," William said, feeling slightly offended at Angel's obvious surprise. "I took Greats at Oxford. Did my, ah, other self, Spike, not tell you? I understood you to have said that he had all my memories, although I have none of his."

"Spike was always pretty close-mouthed about what he'd been like as a human," Angel said. "Latin? I think that there's a Latin translation of the Placenza scrolls. And I know there's a Greek version of the Rituals of Gathas. Hey, maybe we're in business."

"I would be only too pleased to give whatever help I can," William offered.

"That would be great." Angel grinned widely. "So, you had a degree from Oxford? Spike was holding out on me. I wonder. What did you do for a living, William?"

"Oh, my degree was of no practical use," William revealed. "I occupied my time in writing poetry and in caring for my ailing mother. My mother…" Although William had realised that his mother must be long dead he had done so only in an abstract fashion and had not yet come to terms with the realisation. As he mentioned her the reality suddenly struck home and he was stricken with a wave of grief. "Mother," he repeated, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. "She is dead, isn't she? Oh, mother, how you must have worried about me. You must have died alone." Tears began to trickle down his cheeks. He fumbled for a pocket handkerchief.

Angel stood up and put his hand on William's shoulder. He said nothing, but the grip gave William comfort somehow.

Illyria spoke from behind William. "I detest grief. It is as ashes in my mouth."

"Illyria," Angel said, his voice stern, "Not now."

Illyria ignored him. "I shall send an e-mail to Roger and Trish Burkle," she announced. "I shall tell them of the deaths of Wesley and of Gunn. I shall not tell them of Fred."

"You're going to keep pretending that Fred is alive?"

"I am." Illyria's voice softened, the first time that William had heard any emotion in her voice other than contempt, annoyance, or grim satisfaction. "There has been grief enough." William felt a pressure upon his other shoulder and he glanced down and saw Illyria's slender fingers resting there. "All of us have lost ones who were dear to us." The fingers were removed. "Pathetic, weak, human emotion," Illyria said, the hard edge returning to her voice. "It sickens me. I am defiled."

William heard Illyria's footsteps recede into the distance. He dabbed at his cheeks with one of the pieces of soft paper that served as a substitute for a handkerchief in this age. "I am sorry," he said. "My mother must have been dead for many, many, years."

"No need to be sorry, William," Angel said. "Like Illyria said, we've all lost people who were dear to us. And we all still bear the scars of those losses."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Angel's girlfriend was an extremely pretty girl, perhaps even prettier than Harmony, and it seemed to William that her eyes held a serenity and compassion that made her quite eclipse the vampire girl. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Ash," he said sincerely.

"Angel's right, you're not all that much like Spike. Call me Nina," she said. "I'm glad to meet you, William. Although I did like Spike. He was kinda fun. And he kept Angel from getting too serious."

"Hey," Angel protested. "That was nothing to do with Spike. It was you."

"I know my limitations, Angel," Nina said. Her eyes twinkled. "It's good to be back. Well, not that I've ever actually been here before."

"It's not a bad place," Angel said. "I think maybe you might like it."

"It has to be better than Wolfram and Hart," Nina said. "That place was getting you down."

"Yeah. About the only thing that I miss from there is the necro-tinted glass. You won't see me in the sunshine any more, I'm afraid, Nina."

"I'm just glad that I can see you at all." Nina glanced around the room. "You said you had a cage here, right? Is it upstairs?"

"Oh, is it the full moon already?" Harmony asked. "The cage is downstairs in the basement, Nina. I was gonna get it all clean for you, and rig up somewhere for you to hang your clothes, but I haven't done it yet. I'll get right on it."

"There's no rush, Harmony," Nina told her. Her greeting to Harmony had included an embrace, and William deduced that the two girls were friends. There had been no greeting at all between Nina and Illyria. "The full moon isn't until the third of June," Nina went on. "Well, the second is when I'm gonna have to be locked up."

"Cool," Harmony said, smiling broadly. "So, maybe we could hang out tonight while Angel's doing the demon-chasing thing? Watch a movie, maybe?"

"Nina's a werewolf," Angel explained to William, as Nina and Harmony talked. "For three nights a month she has to be locked up in a steel cage. The rest of the time she's, well, probably the nicest girl in the world."

"Only probably?" Nina raised her eyebrows. "You're gonna have to do better than that if you want me to forgive you, any time soon, for you sending me away."

"I couldn't risk you getting hurt, Nina," Angel told her. "I just couldn't. I didn't think we'd make it through. I didn't want you caught up in it."

"She's just teasing you, Angel," Harmony said.

"Hey, you sneak, Harmony. Whose side are you on?" Nina pouted. William detected a trace of laughter in her voice and guessed that she was not really annoyed.

"I'm neutral," Harmony said. "You're my friend, but Angel pays my wages."

William smiled. He was beginning to feel happy in this strange place. Discovering that he did have something to contribute, even if only in a small way, had made a big difference. He could feel that he was a part of this group. He liked Angel, he had come to like Harmony although he was still uncertain of how to treat her, he liked Illyria despite her oddities, and he had a feeling that he would like Nina very much. Everything was going well.

"I think you…" Angel began. He was interrupted by the hotel doors being thrown open behind him.

Six girls entered the atrium, in two files of three, and took up positions to each side of the doors. Between the files walked the man Andrew who had spoken to 'Spike' at the games exhibition. He still wore the long coat despite its total unsuitability for the warm evening.

"Angel," he said. "So, Vampyre with a Soul, we meet again."

Angel tensed. "Andrew," he acknowledged curtly. Illyria came to her feet. Harmony backed away for a couple of paces and clenched her fists. Nina looked from Angel to the new arrivals and her eyebrows climbed. "Clients?" she asked.

Angel turned his head slightly towards Nina but kept his eyes trained on the girls by the doors. "Nina," he said in a low voice. "If you think a fight is going to start, run. Get to one of the bedrooms, lock yourself in, and call the cops. William, the same goes for you."

"Spike, we've come to take you home," Andrew said. "We can probably do something about getting your memories back. It's time for you to get back to Buffy. She's missed you."

"This isn't Spike, Andrew," Angel said. "He's William. And if he wants to go with you, fine. But it's his choice."

"How can he make a choice without his memories?" Andrew said. "You've probably told him all kinds of lies, Vampyre. Criatura del Noche. You don't get to make Spike's decisions for him."

"I am perfectly happy to stay with Mr Angel for as long as he is willing to put up with me," William said. "I have no desire to go to places unknown with people of whom I have no memories."

"Brainwashed," Andrew sighed. "Or maybe Thrall. I thought as much. I'm sorry, Spike, I can't let you have any choice in the matter. And you can't stop me, Vampyre. Get out of the way and let me have Spike or face the wrath of six Slayers."


	6. Chapter 6

Six Slayers. Angel had talked of Slayers. Most of what he had said had hardly registered on William, as it had seemed to be of little relevance compared to all the other astonishing revelations, but he had gathered that Slayers were extremely strong young women who fought and killed vampires. Highly trained fighters, like the female pugilists he had once seen in his own time, and the prospect of facing six of them in combat was distinctly intimidating.

Harmony obviously thought so as well. William caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye as she recoiled with an expression of alarm upon her face.

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Okay, so you have six Slayers," he said in a calm voice. "That don't impress me much."

Harmony made a noise somewhere between a snort and a giggle. A not dissimilar noise came from behind William, where Nina had moved to the bottom of the stairs.

"So they got the moves but have they got the touch?" Angel went on.

The sound that came from Harmony in response was definitely a giggle this time. Grins began to creep across the faces of two of the warrior maidens who faced them. Andrew's expression was merely one of surprise and, William judged, of bafflement. Whatever the girls found so amusing was presumably as much of a mystery to Andrew as it was to William himself.

"It is no use, Vampyre," Andrew declaimed. "Against six Slayers there can be no victory."

"You can not be serious," Nina said. "You're casting yourself as _Saruman_? Wormtongue, more like."

One of the Slayers sniggered. Andrew flushed and he raised a hand to comb back his hair from his brow. "Hand over Spike or suffer the consequences," he demanded once more.

"You don't get to make that decision for him, Andrew," Angel said. "You don't have the edge you think you have. Illyria could take three of your girls. I could handle two. Harmony could hold her own with the last one these days."

"I could?" Harmony said. Her voice quavered slightly.

"You dealt with Tamiko easily enough, and she was a third dan Black Belt before she was turned," Angel pointed out. "I have confidence in you, Harmony."

"Hey, you have confidence in me! Yay! I won't let you down, boss." Harmony took two steps forward, returning to her position from before the Slayers had entered, and William saw that she was wearing a beaming smile.

"I think that I could administer a sound thrashing to the unmannerly young man," William volunteered. His knowledge of the pugilistic arts was slight, but he strongly suspected that Andrew's knowledge would be no greater, and William was confident in the abilities of the wiry but muscular and extremely fit body that Spike had bequeathed to him. He raised his fists.

Andrew's eyes widened and his lower lip drooped. "Spike! You wouldn't hit me, would you? I'm your friend. We totally were comrades in arms."

"I seriously doubt that," William retorted. "Even if it were true I have no memory of such a relationship. You are merely someone whom I have met on precisely one previous occasion. Your attitude towards people who have proven themselves to be true friends is not calculated to win my trust."

"If they were your friends they wouldn't be keeping you from Buffy," Andrew said.

"I'm not keeping William from Buffy," Angel said. "I'm just not letting you drag him off when he doesn't want to go. Why doesn't she just come here?"

Andrew looked down at his shoes. "It's not exactly that Buffy wants to see Spike."

"Giles." Angel's nostrils flared. "I knew it. If he's planning on putting William under a microscope because of the Shanshu…"

"Hey, wait up," one of the Slayers said. She stepped forward, but her hands were outspread in a conciliatory gesture rather than clenched into fists. "I got a feeling things aren't quite like we've been told. This seems more like a kidnapping than a rescue and, hey, I don't want any part in it."

"Yeah," another one said. William could see an odd circular scar on the side of her neck. It seemed to be a design rather than just a random injury. "Suppose we try talking instead of making threats? Hey, Spike, uh, William, don't you remember me? Shannon?"

"Alas, I have no memories of Spike's life at all," William told her. "You are a stranger to me, Miss, although I deduce that you were a friend or acquaintance of my vampire counterpart."

"You sure don't talk like him," said Shannon. She turned her head towards Andrew. "Cool it, Andy. This whole thing is a bust. Like we were supposed to drag Spike, uh, William onto the plane kicking and screaming? You didn't think that airport security might kinda do more than raise a few eyebrows over that?"

"I thought he was being kept prisoner," Andrew whined. "I mean, that blue girl was sticking right to him, wouldn't let him be alone, like she was a guard."

"She was a guard," Angel said. He gritted his teeth and rested the outspread fingers of his left hand against his temple. "A bodyguard, not a prison guard. William hasn't fully adjusted to this century yet. I didn't think it would be a good idea for him to be wandering around by himself at a convention with crowds of thousands and so I asked Illyria to keep an eye on him."

"And how come you think that she could take on three Slayers?" Andrew went on. "Only Slayers have the strength and skill to stand against the Vampyres, the demons, and the forces of darkness."

Angel opened his mouth to speak but Illyria pre-empted him. "Then why did they not?" she snapped. "When Wesley perished at the hands of the sorcerer Cyrus Vail where were your Slayers? Where were they when vampires slew Charles Gunn?"

"We didn't know anything about it," Andrew said.

"And yet you are here." Illyria folded her arms and stared at him. "You watch but act only when it suits your own purposes."

"I'm only here 'cause of E3." Andrew confessed. His gaze was trained on his shoes once more. "I got hold of a ticket through a software supplier, 'cause I've been buying things for the Council, and so I told Giles that I wanted to do some investigating of Wolfram and Hart just so that he would give me time off to come to LA. I didn't know that there was something going down until after I got here."

"Oh, is that right?" The Slayer who had been first to back out of the confrontation raised her eyebrows. "And the Council paid for your air ticket, right? I wonder what Giles will think of that."

"I bet he says 'dear Lord'," Shannon said. "And then rips Andrew a new one."

'A new what?' William wondered.

"No bet," the other girl said.

"Hey," one of the other Slayers put in, "I guess we're not going to fight now. So why are we just standing around in the doorway?"

William opened his mouth to invite them to come in and sit down but bit the words off unsaid. This was Angel's property, and any such invitation should come from him.

Angel threw his head back and laughed. "And for everything else, there's MasterCard," he said, incomprehensibly to William. "Very well, Slayers, I invite you in."

"Way to go with the pop culture references, boss," Harmony said. A wide smile lit up her face for a moment until it was replaced by a little frown. "Uh, should I make coffee?"

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

William would have preferred tea, but coffee was an acceptable alternative. The biscuits were unfamiliar, packets of 'Oreos' and 'Fig Newtons' instead of tins containing assortments by Huntley & Palmer or Carr's of Carlisle, but they were tasty enough. Perhaps a little too sweet for his taste but perfectly acceptable.

Angel drank coffee but abstained from the biscuits. Harmony had a wistful expression on her face as she nibbled at an Oreo. "They just don't taste the same as they used to," she complained. "Being a vampire kinda sucks sometimes."

Her words seemed to remind the Slayers of her vampire status and she became the focus of several hard stares through narrowed eyes. Shannon, however, merely smiled. "Spike liked cookies," she commented.

"Oh, I still like them," Harmony said, "just not as much as I used to. But at least I don't have to worry about putting on weight. Not with cookies, anyway, it's pig blood that goes straight to my hips."

Nina nibbled at a biscuit. "Yeah, I'll have to watch it with these," she said. "I'll call it a day at one. Or, hey, maybe two."

William raised his eyebrows slightly. He very much doubted if Nina needed to concern herself with banting. He was more interested, however, in Shannon's remark. "You knew Spike?" he asked the Slayer.

"Not well," she replied. "I only arrived at Sunnydale about six weeks before everything went down and I was in the hospital for a lot of the time. Vi, Rona, and Caridad were the girls who knew you best and I picked up things from them talking about you. Well, they knew Spike, anyway."

"I know you better than she does," Andrew said. His lower lip protruded in a pout that almost impeded his ability to drink from his coffee cup.

"Yeah, but you get things wrong, Andrew." Shannon rolled her eyes. "Rona told me about you telling everyone that Faith had killed a Vulcan."

"What, like Doctor Spock?" Harmony wrinkled her forehead when her question seemed to cause amusement in the Slayers. "Uh, do I mean Mister Spock?"

Illyria put a biscuit into her mouth and swallowed it apparently without chewing. "A tolerable source of nourishment," she judged. "This conversation bores me. If there is to be no violence I shall return to my simulation." She rose smoothly to her feet, spun on her heel, and strode towards the newest of the machines on which she played games.

"Hey, that was supposed to be for work," Harmony complained. "I haven't even had a chance to get Office set up properly on it. Tell her, Angel."

"Not now, Harmony," Angel said. "It's not like you're using it." He fixed his gaze on Shannon. "So Andrew gets things wrong?"

"Oh, yeah, all the time," Shannon told him. Her attention appeared to be concentrated on Illyria.

"Hey!" Andrew protested. No-one took any notice.

"Just what is she?" Shannon asked.

"She _was_ Winifred Burkle," Angel said. "My friend and comrade. Until she was infected with the essence of the ancient God-King Illyria." He swallowed hard and his fists clenched. "It ate her up from the inside and she died in agony. And when I asked for help…" He swallowed again, shook his head, and unclenched his fists. The last gesture appeared to take some conscious effort. "I'm not going to talk about it now. Just take it that it didn't leave me feeling particularly well inclined towards Giles."

"Oh." Shannon pursed her lips and looked at her fingernails.

"What about Buffy?" Andrew asked.

"What do you mean by that?" Angel's eyebrows descended as his gaze swung to the young man.

"Giles wants Spike to come back with us for Buffy's sake," Andrew told him.

Angel's eyebrows shot back up again. "You have to be joking. I thought you said that she was happy with the Immortal? Moving on? You even mentioned snuggling."

"Well, yeah." Andrew squirmed in his chair and seemed to be avoiding meeting Angel's eyes. "There was. And Buffy seems happy with him. But Giles isn't convinced that it's real. He doesn't trust the Immortal."

"Is Giles acquiring some sense at last, or is it just him being unwaveringly suspicious of anyone who isn't fully human?"

"Giles isn't happy about the Immortal having gotten to a couple of Slayers before we did," Andrew said. "Uh, Caprice and Isabella work for him. I was supposed to try to get them to come over to us, but I couldn't persuade them. He pays them quarter of a million Euro a year. Each. We can't even come close to matching that."

Angel sighed. "That explains a lot. This is one of those moments when I really miss Spike. He's the only one who could have come up with a suitable saying for this occasion." He glanced at William. "I'm sorry, William."

"It is perfectly all right," William said. "I understand that you miss your friend, and I am not he." He directed his own gaze at Andrew. "I do not understand all of what you have said, but I think that I might venture a guess at what you desire. Am I to understand that your employer wishes me to visit this Buffy, who I gather was formerly romantically involved with Spike, in the hope that I will divert her attention away from an undesirable known as 'the Immortal'?"

"Indeed you have penetrated to the very heart of Giles' cunning plan," Andrew admitted.

"And you couldn't have just asked nicely in the first place?" Nina said.

"You seemed pretty set on keeping both of us away from Buffy when we were in Rome," Angel reminded Andrew.

"Well, Giles didn't know about Spike then," Andrew said. "I had kept the secret with which my comrade in arms had entrusted me. I only told Giles after I discovered that Spike had turned human. That was just too big a deal to keep to myself."

Angel's eyes rolled upwards to stare at the ceiling. "Yeah, right. Okay, Giles doesn't trust the Immortal. I don't trust the Immortal. I'm not thrilled about Buffy being with him. But I don't think that it's any of my business any longer. You advised me to move on. Well, I have. If William wants to go with you then I won't stop him, but I don't want you and Giles using him as a pawn in some stupid scheme. The Immortal is dangerous."

"He could just come back to London with me," Andrew said, "and Giles will ask Buffy to come over, and we'll see what happens."

"Suppose we actually talk to William instead of past him?" Shannon suggested. "Hey, William, will you go to London and meet up with some of the people who you used to know when you were Spike?"

"I would like to see London, certainly," William told her. "It is my home. I wonder how much it has changed?"

"So you want to go?" A crease appeared between Angel's eyebrows.

"For a visit only," William clarified. "I shall return here, of course." He hesitated, wondering if he was presuming too much. "If you would like me to return, that is."

Angel's smile was enough of an answer to render his words superfluous. "You'll always be welcome here, William."

Illyria looked up briefly from her game. "If any sought to prevent you from returning to us I would wreak dreadful vengeance upon them," she declared. "Your company is pleasant to me. You remind me both of my pet and of Wesley." Her head swivelled so that she was staring directly at Andrew. "Take heed, wretch, for should harm befall William then it is you who shall be the first to suffer my wrath."

"Uh, I'll take good care of him, your, uh, Majesty," Andrew promised.

Illyria did not deign to reply. Her attention was once more fixed upon the screen.

"I'll look after you too," Shannon said. "As long as the Council will pay for my flight, that is."

"Flight?" William gulped. It was an aspect of the invitation that had not previously occurred to him. "Am I to travel upon an actual flying machine?"

"Well, broomsticks don't work outside of Harry Potter, so I guess you'll have to," Shannon said. "Uh, sorry, I guess you won't know what I'm talking about."

"I have absolutely no idea," William confirmed. "Just imagine! I shall traverse the Atlantic Ocean in a flying machine. Truly this is an age of wonders. Remarkable!"


	7. Chapter 7

William turned his head from side to side and stared. He was overwhelmed at the sight of so many people scurrying hither and thither. A vast throng all of whom were about to travel, or had already done so, on huge machines that flew through the air! "I am absolutely awestruck by all of this," he remarked to Shannon. "I fear that I shall say 'remarkable' so many times that it may quite drive you mad."

"Hey, no problem, I'll understand," the Slayer said, smiling at him. "I know this must be a big deal for you."

"All these people seem quite blasé about what is a miracle to me," William went on. "I hope that I shall not draw too much attention to myself."

"A lot of people are nervous about flying," Shannon told him. "Uh, not that they have any reason to be, of course. But nobody will take any notice of you. Seriously."

Even as she spoke her assurance was contradicted by events. A party of people who were heading out of the airport set eyes upon William and reacted with apparent recognition. "Hey, hunter guy," a girl greeted him. She was very fair, with straight blonde hair cut in a fringe that hung above piercing blue eyes, and she wore a shirt with a man's necktie. Her mouth had been set in a severe straight line but suddenly curled up in a broad and warm smile. "You keep up the good work, okay?" She held a guitar case in one hand. The other hand came up in a salute, one thumb held upwards as if she was a Roman emperor giving the signal for a defeated gladiator to be put to death, and then was lowered again.

"Keep the faith, brother," a bearded man in a broad-brimmed hat added. He too carried a guitar case. "Right on." A man who bore a violin case waved and smiled.

William was taken aback. He glanced around to see if anyone else could be the subject of their greetings and gestures, saw no-one reacting, and turned back to them with a polite smile and nod. The musicians, apparently satisfied, moved on.

"Hey, that was Aimee Mann," Shannon said. "How come she knows you?"

"I have absolutely no idea," William replied.

"All know of Spike, Vampyre with a Soul," Andrew declaimed. "Uh, she played a gig in Sunnydale back before it sunk. Maybe she saw you there."

"I am utterly perplexed," William said. "Her _pollice verso_ gesture was somewhat ominous, and yet her manner appeared friendly."

"Gesture? You mean the thumbs-up?" Shannon frowned. "But that's a good thing. Like, Siskel and Ebert use it for 'it was a great movie'. It means, 'Yay, go you', you dig? 'Let the gladiator live', right?"

"Good Lord," William said. "The meaning has completely reversed since my day. _Pollice verso_ was the signal for a gladiator to be _slain_. That is clear in all the sources that I have read. Although it was portrayed in the opposite fashion in Jean-Léon Gérôme's painting by that name, I believe, and that was rather popular. You say, then, that the young lady was signifying approval?"

"Well, duh," said Shannon. "Totally."

"How shall I cope in this world if the very gestures have changed their meanings?" William wondered.

"Don't worry about it, Will," Shannon told him. "We'll keep you straight." She glanced over her shoulder. "Well, I'll keep you straight, and Dawn, and Buffy. I wouldn't pay too much attention to Andrew if I were you."

"Hey!" Andrew protested. "I am totally capable of acting as a wise mentor to Spike."

Shannon ignored him.

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

William turned his head away from the window at long last. "How high did the captain say that we were?" he asked Shannon.

"Thirty-five thousand feet," Shannon told him.

William shook his head. "More than six and one half miles! Astounding! I must confess that I cannot understand the scientific basis of our flight, and it seems against all natural law to me, but the evidence that it works is incontrovertible. Remarkable! Oh, dear, I had resolved to limit my use of that word. My apologies."

Shannon smiled. "Totally understandable. I guess that this is a pretty big deal for you."

"I find myself hardly able to believe it," William said. "_Up above the world you fly, like a tea-tray in the sky_. Truly I am in Wonderland."

"Uh, like Alice in Wonderland? I guess it has to seem that way to you."

"Indeed. We fly in a craft of metal, without even a visible screw propeller, six miles above the ground. Moving pictures are presented for our entertainment, or we can play games where tiny figures perform at our command," William gestured across the seats to where Andrew thumbed the buttons of his Game Boy Advance, "as we travel thousands of miles at the speed of a bullet. Anyone who foretold such things would have been dismissed as a madman. Not even Jules Verne could have dreamt that such wonders would come to pass." His tongue touched the tips of his teeth. "I am eager to see what changes have taken place in London, I must say, and yet at the same time I dread what I might find."

"Well, I only know it the way it is now," said Shannon. "I guess a lot of it is pretty new. But hey, you're just gonna have to wait and see."

"Indeed I am." William turned again and stared out of the window. "There is surprisingly little to see. Only the tops of the clouds and the ground so far below that I can make out nothing of the details. Perhaps I shall avail myself of some of the entertainment on offer."

"Or catch some sleep," Shannon suggested.

"Sleep?" William's eyebrows twitched. "In such circumstances? Impossible."

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William staggered slightly as he stepped down from the train. For a moment the ground seemed to sway beneath him. He had slept for some considerable time as the aeroplane traversed the Atlantic Ocean, despite his confidence that he would do no such thing, yet he had awoken feeling as if he had not rested. Now, despite it being no more than late afternoon, he felt more than ready to retire to a real bed.

"You okay?" Shannon asked him. She reached out a hand towards him. "You should let me take that case."

"Oh, no, it's quite all right," he assured her. He had been told that Slayers were many times as strong as a normal man, and his observations during the journey seemed to confirm that the weight of a suitcase would be absolutely nothing to Shannon, but he still could not bring himself to allow a young lady to carry his luggage. "The hours of motion seem to have had a slightly adverse effect upon my sense of balance, perhaps, but I am perfectly recovered now." He resolutely ignored the sensations of vertical motion and strode towards the platform exit.

A railway station was something with which he could cope unassisted. Locomotives might now be sleek fish-nosed contraptions or else almost indistinguishable from carriages, and they no longer belched out clouds of smoke, but the differences between the trains of this time and those of his own era seemed minor indeed compared to such fantastical contrivances as aeroplanes. Why, the railway company was even called First Great Western! Perhaps the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway had also survived.

"Uh, Shannon, you can carry my case," Andrew said. "I'm tired too."

"Stop trying it on and carry your own damn case," Shannon said. "If you're weighed down with video games it's totally your own fault. And hey, Giles is gonna be waiting right outside the station."

Giles. William almost missed a step at that reminder. The man who had withheld desperately needed help from Angel and his colleagues.

Shannon spotted his near stumble. "You sure you're okay with that case?"

"Yes, thank you, Shannon," William assured her. He transferred his case to his left hand and strode on. There was more than one person waiting beyond the station exit, but only one was a man on his own, and William guessed that the smartly dressed man of perhaps forty was Giles. His guess was confirmed when Shannon headed directly for that man and exchanged greetings.

There was no welcome in the man's eyes as he extended his hand to William. "I gather that you do not remember me," Giles said. "Rupert Giles."

Once within arms' length of the man William decided that his guess at the man's age might have been an underestimate. It was hard to be sure because it seemed that people of this time lived longer than in his own day and aged less quickly. "William Pratt," he responded, and shook the offered hand. "Rupert Giles? I had been under the impression that Giles was your Christian name. For that matter, I had been led to believe that I was to meet you in London, and I would not have regarded Bracknell as part of the city."

"Remarkable," Giles muttered almost inaudibly, and then a trace of a smile appeared on his face and he spoke in a normal voice. "These Americans do not draw such distinctions. There was no intention to mislead you, ah, William. Well, I expect that you will be looking forward to the end of your journey. The car is just outside."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Our premises in Central London were destroyed more than a year ago," Giles explained, as he navigated the vehicle through the streets of Bracknell. "It was far more efficient to sell the land for development, and to relocate outside the City, than it would have been to rebuild. Especially with Ken Livingstone's blasted congestion charge. I would have preferred to move to Bath, actually, but this is more convenient for international travel."

William ran his fingers over one of the strips of highly polished wood that embellished the interior of the motor vehicle. There was something indefinably English and reassuring about it. "It still seems incredible to me that one can travel between continents in mere hours. I am accustomed to steamships taking more than a week to cross the Atlantic. A rail journey from Bath to London would be of no consequence at all compared to that."

"I suppose not," Giles said. He glanced across at William briefly and then returned his gaze to the road. "You really have no memory at all of anything that has happened since some time in the Victorian era?"

"From my point of view only a few days have transpired since the Underwoods' party," William confirmed. "That was in the summer of 1880. I still find it hard to believe that I am not dreaming."

"I don't blame you. It must seem very strange to you, certainly." Giles flicked another glance at William. "I can hardly believe it myself. You seem to be very different to the Spike that I knew."

"I fear that I am no hero," William agreed. "I shall do my best to fill his place, of course, but I may be but a poor substitute."

"That wasn't exactly what I meant," Giles said. "This isn't really the time to begin serious conversations, however. I think that we should wait until you have had a chance to get over your jet-lag."

"Jet-lag?" William echoed.

"Ah, yes, you won't be familiar with that term. It's what happens when you travel across eight time zones in a single day," Giles explained. "Your body clock is eight hours ahead of the real time. It's afternoon here but you'll feel as if it is late in the evening."

"I do indeed," William confirmed. "Although I was able to sleep upon the aeroplane I still feel as if I could retire to bed this very moment."

"It's probably best if you don't. You'd wake up in the early hours of the morning," Giles advised him. "I would recommend that you stay up until a reasonably late hour." He used one hand to flick a lever that protruded from behind the steering wheel and a light began to blink among the array of dials upon the vehicle's control panel. He turned the wheel and the car turned off one road and onto another.

"That seems eminently sensible," William agreed.

"I am afraid that I rather took it for granted that you would be staying with me," Giles said. "Spike and I had our differences but we knew each other well. It hadn't really occurred to me that you would be so different and that we are, in fact, strangers to each other. We have a house that serves as a residence for Slayers, which is where Andrew and Shannon will be staying, and you could stay there if you prefer, although of course you would be very welcome at my home."

William pursed his lips. He found the company of the American girl agreeable, certainly, but Andrew merely irritated him. Mr Giles had the air of a gentleman of William's own class and in other circumstances he would have accepted an invitation to stay in his home without hesitation. However there were matters that he had to raise with Mr Giles that carried the potential for some unpleasantness. It would not be seemly to become involved in an argument with one's host. Perhaps it might be best to decline the invitation and stay at the Slayers' residence.

"Yeah, stay with us, Spike – uh, William," Andrew urged. "I'll show you around the town, okay?"

That settled the matter. William turned his head towards Giles. "I would be delighted to accept the offer of hospitality at your home, Mr Giles, and I thank you for your kindness."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Giles, although as yet unmarried, did not live alone. His fiancée lived with him as if they were already man and wife. Such arrangements, William had learned, were by no means uncommon in this day and age. The lady in question, Olivia, was a tall and elegant woman of obvious African descent.

William had once attended a function at which the recently exiled Zulu king Cetshawayo was present. The king had been gloomy, perhaps unsurprisingly, and had had little to say for himself. That had been the only occasion on which William had had any social contact with someone of a different race, unless one counted Illyria, and for a moment he was slightly taken aback when introduced to Olivia. However it was immediately apparent that she was no savage Zulu but a person of education and good social standing. With that established it was easy for William to mentally categorise her as a lady of his own class, who happened to have a trace of a Northern accent, and whose skin was a rather fetching shade of brown.

"I met you once, you know," Olivia told him, as they sat at dinner. "Or rather I met Spike." She glanced aside at Giles and the corners of her mouth turned up. Her eyes seemed to twinkle. "A rather pleasant young man, I thought."

Giles frowned at her. "At that time he was still an unrepentantly evil vampire," he said. "He changed later, and perhaps earlier than I recognised, but there had been no change at that stage. He was held back from tearing out your throat only by a computer chip implanted in his brain."

William gulped. Angel had made brief mention of Spike's early activities but had dwelt mainly upon his later career as a champion of good.

"Possibly," Olivia said, "but he didn't act that way. He was very polite, or at least as much so as was possible when we had all been magically deprived of our voices, and I rather liked him."

"You were deprived of your voices?" William was intrigued, and was also relieved to hear that Olivia's opinion of his vampire self had been favourable.

"It wasn't pleasant," Olivia said. "There were monsters. I didn't have any idea that such things really existed, still less that Rupert was involved in fighting them on a daily basis, and it was a pretty big speed-bump in our relationship."

William had no idea what a 'speed-bump' might be but deduced from the context that it was an obstacle of some sort. He raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly.

"I wouldn't even speak to him for the next year and a half," Olivia went on. She sighed. "I regret that now. We wasted a lot of time. And closing my eyes to the truth was pointless. Those things exist, whether they are acknowledged or not."

"I'm glad that I was able to change your mind, my dear," Giles said. "I should have been more honest with you right from the start."

"True," Olivia said. "Although I might never have taken up with you in the first place if you hadn't used that line about being one of the original members of Pink Floyd."

There was a moment of silence. "My own first experience of the supernatural was rather a shocking experience," William said, after a while. "I gather that I was turned into a vampire before I had even a chance to realise that such creatures exist."

"And you recollect nothing of your vampire existence? It must, then, seem to you almost as if you have travelled through time," Giles said.

"Exactly," William confirmed. "It took some considerable time before Angel was able to convince me that vampires were not just the fanciful inventions of storytellers. Yet within a day or two such things seemed almost normal to me compared with all the wonders of this age that I discovered. So much has changed."

"I can imagine," Giles said.

"The mechanical marvels are almost the least of it," William went on. "The Empire has vanished, there have been wars in Europe of inconceivable ferocity, and England is now in a union with France, Germany, and other lesser nations. Yet some things have not changed. I saw, for instance, that the train upon which we travelled here was still operated by the Great Western Company. Tell me, do you know if the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway still survives?"

Giles raised his eyebrows. "I think it became part of the LMS, London Midland and Scottish, and of course the railways were nationalised in the nineteen-forties anyway. The present Great Western isn't the original company, as far as I know. They are just re-using the name. Why do you ask?"

"My grandfather was among the original investors in the Bolton and Leigh railway," William explained, "and acquired a substantial shareholding in the Lancashire and Yorkshire upon the merger of the companies. I inherited that holding and became a director of the company upon the death of my father."

A furrow appeared on Giles' brow. "Lancashire and Yorkshire, Lancashire and Yorkshire – why does that sound familiar to me?"

"Newton Heath football club," Olivia put in. "You know – Manchester United."

"Good Lord," Giles exclaimed. "Spike's great passion. I always thought that it was rather an odd choice for a Londoner."

"Newton Heath? Oh, I remember," William said. "The railway workers formed a football club. I approved. A healthy workforce is a productive workforce. I made a donation of five guineas towards balls and sporting kit, if I recall correctly. Are you telling me that the football club survives to this day, although the railway itself is gone?"

"Good Lord," Giles repeated. "Oh, yes, it survives. One of the most famous and successful clubs in the world, in fact. Well I never. Spike continued to support it for more than a century. Quite remarkable."

"It seems that vampires have more in common…" Olivia began, but she was interrupted by a melodious chime.

"Oh dear," Giles said. "I hope that's not… her. I told her not to come…" the chimes sounded again, "until tomorrow." The chimes were repeated. "Oh, blast. It must be her. Although if we are lucky it will be Dawn."

Olivia's eyes were trained in the direction of the door and William deduced that the chimes were a doorbell. "I'll get it," Olivia said, as the chimes sounded yet again. "You'd better fill William in." She stood up and began to walk towards the door.

"Thank you, dearest," Giles said. "Ah, William, I must admit to having ordered Andrew and Shannon to mislead you slightly. They told you that Buffy Summers was in Italy, I take it?"

"And that you intended to use me to lure her away from an unfortunate, ah, entanglement," William confirmed.

"That wasn't strictly true," Giles revealed. "The girl in Rome is a double. At the time we wanted Buffy to be visible in one place when she was really somewhere completely different." William could hear conversation from the doorway, although the words were unclear. "The real Buffy Summers…" Giles went on. A fair-haired young woman rushed into the room as he spoke. Olivia followed behind her.

"Spike!" the girl cried. "Spike. It's really you."

Giles raised his eyes to look at the ceiling as he completed his interrupted sentence. "…is here."


	8. Chapter 8

William rose to his feet when the young lady entered the room, as was proper, and greeted her. "Miss Summers, I presume?"

"Miss Summers? Huh?" The girl's eyes opened very wide. They were green, or perhaps hazel, and the only aspect of her appearance that William found worthy of note on first sight. Her face was pretty enough, but markedly less so than that of Nina Ash, and she was far too thin of figure to appeal to him. "What is this?" the girl went on. "Spike – you can't not remember me. You love me. You can't just forget."

William bowed his head. There was a note of entreaty in the young lady's voice that wrung his heart. "I am sorry," he said. "I have not the faintest recollection of you. I remember nothing of Spike's existence whatsoever."

The girl put her fist to her mouth and seemed to choke back a sob. "Spike… William… you have to remember."

"I am dreadfully sorry," William told her. "It is as if there is nothing left of Spike. It seems terribly unfair, for I gather that he strove heroically and was surely deserving of a reward, yet such did not transpire. I am sorry."

"I warned you, Buffy," Giles put in. "I did think that there was a chance that seeing you would bring back his memory, but…"

"Willow," Miss Summers said.

Giles frowned. "Not without William's consent," he stated in tones indicative of stern resolve.

"But he has to remember," Miss Summers cried. "He has to." She turned and fled from the room. Olivia followed.

"I'm sorry about that," Giles said. "I asked her to wait until tomorrow, when you would at least have had a chance to recover from the journey and get your bearings, but she ignored my request. As usual."

William sat down. "It may have better to get it over with, I suppose," he said. "She appears to be rather distressed. Alas, I believe that I may have reawakened sad memories in Miss Summers rather than any of Spike's memories being restored in myself. Perhaps it would have been better had I not come here."

Olivia came back into the room in time to hear William's comment. "She would just have gone to Los Angeles," she said, and sat down.

"She would indeed," Giles agreed. "I couldn't have kept the news from her for long. She undoubtedly would have blown up in spectacular fashion when she did find out. I had hoped to kill two birds with one stone, as it were, and use Spike's apparent reappearance as an excuse to pull out our agent from Rome without arousing the Immortal's suspicions. The egotistical tosser won't accept that any girl could ever tire of him and it was getting rather tiresome having to keep Buffy incognito." He shook his head. "I'm not sure that it's worked out terribly well. Buffy rather blew her cover in public shortly after we gave her the news. If we could have brought you over a couple of days earlier…"

"Arranging a passport for me took a little time," William said. "I apologise, but it was unavoidable." He yawned. "I do beg your pardon. I am feeling suddenly weary. I think that I may have to retire to bed."

"Quite understandable," said Giles. "Get some rest. I'm afraid that you'll probably have to face Buffy again tomorrow morning."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

William perused the pages of the _Daily Telegraph_ over breakfast. "Good heavens," he exclaimed. "Such appalling behaviour!"

"What? Oh, yes," Giles said. "There is much less respect for authority than there was in your day, I'm afraid."

"But to pelt the Prime Minister with flour and purple dye? Outrageous! Truly disgraceful! Is the First Lord of the Treasury no longer a figure to command respect? I cannot conceive of even the lowest ruffian engaging in such behaviour towards the Earl of Beaconsfield or Mr Gladstone."

"The position itself is as significant as ever, or more," Giles confirmed. "The Queen's consent is a mere formality these days and the Prime Minister has almost unlimited powers. Tony Blair, however, is no Disraeli or Gladstone."

William shook his head. "Such disrespect," he muttered, and he moved on to the next article. A wry smile came to his lips. "I see that England is still engaged in trying to pacify the wild Afghans," he said. "Some things, it appears, have not changed."

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The social changes were in many ways harder for William to grasp than the technological or political changes. To discover that Olivia went out to work, quite independently of her fiancé, was something of a shock to him. Why, she even drove herself in her very own motor carriage! Incredible!

In William's experience it was primarily the women of the labouring classes who worked, in domestic service or in menial roles such as washerwomen, and when women of good family took up roles such as schoolmistresses it was as a substitute for marriage. Those without the beauty or the fortune to attract a husband were forced to turn to such activities but it was hardly by choice. Olivia could not be fitted into those categories.

As William delved deeper into the newspaper he discovered that she was far from unique in this age. Women of all classes filled every niche. Even the wife of the Prime Minister was a practicing lawyer, and possibly a witch; although that appellation might merely be being used as a term of abuse towards one who seemed to be remarkably unpopular amongst the populace at large. Women were lawyers, doctors, bankers, even soldiers! The spirit of Elizabeth Garrett Anderson was everywhere in this age.

Good Lord! The men who had pelted the Prime Minister with flour had been protesting that the law gave too much control of their children to their divorced wives. William had heard of cases in which the Court of Chancery had given custody of children to their mothers, true, but it had still been very much the exception in his day. The pendulum seemed to have swung very much in the other direction. Perhaps justly so; certainly men capable of such unseemly behaviour could hardly be regarded as suitable role models for children, but it was another example of how much the world had changed.

Flying machines, vampires, goddesses, young maidens stronger than any music-hall strongman, television, skirts higher than the knee, the end of Empire, a tunnel under the English Channel, equality for women, attending Church services on a Sunday now being the exception rather than the rule, a pound being now made up of one hundred pennies rather than two hundred and forty – and that pound was now scarcely sufficient to purchase a cup of tea!

If he could return to his own time and relate his experiences he would be mocked as a madman. Such a return was impossible, of course; he was in the twenty-first century irrevocably, for good or ill, and must make the best of it.

William sighed. Was there a place for him in this world? This excursion to an England that he no longer recognised had not helped. Indeed, it had thus far led him to believe that, if there was a place for him, it was in Los Angeles in the company of Mr Angel and his fellows. He found himself missing their company already. Perhaps he might prevail upon Mr Giles to assist him in making a telephone call to them? Or in sending one of those 'e-mail' letters for telegraphic transmission? No, not yet. First he had a promise to keep.

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"I shall be working from home today," Giles informed William. "It's one of the advantages of the communications systems of this time."

"I am sorry if my presence here is inconveniencing you," William said.

Giles shook his head. "You hardly need to apologise. It was I who requested that you come here, after all. I'm afraid that you'll almost certainly have to face an invasion of women this morning. Buffy will be back, and she'll bring Willow and Dawn. If it gets too much for you I'll try to provide some moral support."

"Thank you." William swallowed hard. It was time to fulfil the promise that he had made to Angel, to Harmony, and to Illyria; now, before the arrival of Buffy Summers forced a delay. "Mr Giles, there is something that I must discuss with you. It is a delicate matter, and I feel that I am in a difficult position in that I am a guest in your house, but I have little choice."

Giles raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Go on."

"It concerns an appeal for assistance that Angel made to you," William said. "He sought your aid in obtaining the services of the witch Willow. His colleague Miss Winifred Burkle was gravely ill with a demonic infection and Willow was her only hope." He swallowed again. "You refused his plea, sir, and as a result Miss Burkle died."

Giles sat down very quickly. It seemed almost as if it were pure luck that there was a chair behind him. "What? I – I didn't know."

"She was consumed by fever, perished, and rose again as Illyria," William elaborated. "Angel and Harmony were quite bereft, for Miss Burkle was dear to them, but their colleague Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was most grievously stricken. I understand that Wesley and Winifred had proclaimed their love for one another only a brief time before the infection took hold. He was plunged into the blackest despair upon her death and Angel believes that this led to his death in its turn. Wesley performed his final mission without heed for his own safety, casting his life away in the process, and Illyria bears a deep grudge against you on that account."

"But – but that doesn't make sense," Giles protested. "If Willow had cured Winifred then Illyria would have been destroyed."

"I must confess that I do not fully understand Illyria's logic," William agreed, "yet she undoubtedly grieves for Wesley and resents you for what she sees as a betrayal. Perhaps it is her belief that Willow would have failed, and is upset only that no such attempt was even made, or perhaps it is because she is unhappy in this world and would as soon have been returned to her eternal sleep. I know not."

Giles sighed deeply and raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I had no idea," he said. "I didn't believe Angel. He was working for Wolfram and Hart, after all, and I assumed that he had sold out to Evil. That it was a trick of some sort."

William said nothing. He simply stared at Giles for a few moments, until the older man sighed again and lowered his head.

"I made a mistake," Giles admitted. "I have my own reasons for holding a grudge against Angel. I probably allowed them to influence me unduly. It made me too ready to accept the worst possible interpretation. I'm sorry."

"It is not I to whom you must make your apologies," William said.

Giles sighed for a third time. "Very well. I'll ring Angel and apologise. If he doesn't just hang up on me, that is." He glanced at his wrist-watch. "As well now as later, I suppose. It will be the middle of the night in California but, after all, he is a vampire."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

Mr Giles was engaged in talking on the telephone for some considerable time. William occupied himself by watching the television machine. The variety of entertainments on offer was incredible. All summoned by pressing buttons on a mysterious device that projected a beam of invisible light, or so Angel had informed him, thereby doing away with the need for wires. It was beyond his comprehension, but then so were many others of the contrivances of the twenty-first century, and so he did not worry about it. He devoted his attention only on the 'programmes' upon the screen.

Mr Giles had recommended that he view the educational programmes on the 'Documentary channels', in order to gain a better understanding of this world, and he followed that advice. The programme that caught his attention, however, was of little immediate relevance. It depicted those giant extinct reptiles known as dinosaurs. Fascinating. The reconstructions were amazing in their verisimilitude and yet very different from the statues constructed by Mr Hawkins at the Crystal Palace park. It seemed that much had been learned about the creatures over the intervening century and a half. William watched, enthralled, until Mr Giles completed his telephone conversation and returned to the room in which the television set was housed.

Hardly had he done so, however, when a shrill repetitive tone announced that an incoming call was being made to the telephone apparatus. Mr Giles returned to the telephone and engaged in a conversation. Within a few minutes the call was completed and Mr Giles joined William once more.

"That was Buffy," Giles announced. "She wants me to take you over to her house."

"I suppose that I should go," William said, with some reluctance.

"I won't be staying," Giles said. "I might as well go into the office, if I'm leaving the house anyway." He seemed to detect nervousness in William's expression. "There's no need to worry. I can promise you that Buffy doesn't bite."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

William had assumed that he was going to the Slayers' residence, of which he had been told, and that Shannon would be there. A familiar face would be welcome. His assumption proved to be incorrect. Buffy Summers and her sister had a house of their own, separate from the accommodation for visiting Slayers, and Shannon was not present. There was a familiar face, nonetheless, for Andrew was there; William was unsure of whether this was a good thing or a bad.

Dawn Summers was a young girl blossoming into womanhood. Taller than her sister, and prettier, although there was a family resemblance. Her blue-grey eyes clouded with disappointment when William showed no signs of recognition upon their meeting. Another who missed Spike, it seemed.

Also present was Willow, the witch of whom William had been told by Angel, and William took particular note of her. He paid her even more attention when she favoured him with a most attractive smile. She asked him questions that indicated that she was interested in him as a person in his own right, unlike the Misses Summers who appeared to regard him almost as a usurper, and smiled again as he answered. Why, she was quite enchanting! William smiled back at Willow and answered her questions with enthusiasm.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Willow told him, after he had confessed to his bafflement as to the operation of some of this age's devices. "Like, most of the people around don't get how things work anyway. As long as you can figure out which buttons to push that puts you on a level with them, so, it's no big."

"I suppose that you are right, Miss Willow," William said.

"It's just Willow, William," Willow said. "Don't bother about the 'Miss', 'kay?"

"Very well, Willow," William agreed. "I wonder, would you be so good as to instruct me in the art of sending an 'e-mail'? I would like to communicate with Angel, Harmony, and Illyria."

"I could do that," Andrew offered. Everyone ignored him.

"Sure thing," Willow responded. "We could do that right now, if you like."

"Hey!" Buffy broke in. Her lips protruded in a pout and a crease appeared between her eyebrows. "Remember what you're here for, Will." She bent close to Willow's ear and whispered something. William heard a few of the words and noted that they included 'stealing' and 'boyfriend'.

"I so was not!" Willow protested. "Hey, gay now, remember?" Her cheeks flushed pink.

"Yeah, so you keep telling us," Dawn muttered. "Like the Kennedy thing was such a big success, right?"

William deduced that Buffy believed that Willow was seeking to attract him on her own accord. He would not have been altogether averse to the idea, for Willow was perhaps the most attractive young lady that he had encountered thus far in this century bar Nina Ash, but he could see that it would not find favour in Buffy Summers' eyes. "Another time, then," he said.

"Uh, yeah," Willow said. "Um. What I'm here for. Right. Uh, William, Buffy wants me to try to restore your memories with magic. Only, hey, I totally won't mess with memories unless you are okay with it. Informed consent. 'Cause, hey, doing it without your permission would totally lead to badness."

"I am sorry, Miss Summers," William said, pointedly refraining from calling the girl 'Buffy', "but I am in no way willing to give such consent."

"But you have to want your memories back," Buffy said. Her lip trembled. "Willow would only be fixing what's broken."

"I beg to differ," William said. "I do not regard Spike's life as mine. I fear lest I would lose my own identity."

"He's right, Buffy," Willow backed him, and in so doing made herself the target of fierce glares from both Buffy and Dawn Summers.

"If Spike got to be human as a reward then you are keeping it from him," Buffy accused.

"Indeed you have a point, Miss Summers," William agreed. "It seems rather unfair that he should receive such a reward yet be unaware of it. Even so, simple self-preservation compels me to resist any attempt to thrust his memories upon me with magic." He weakened slightly at the sight of Buffy's trembling lip. "I would not object to attempts to awaken memories within me by more conventional means. Showing me treasured possessions of his, and the like."

"Kind of hard, seeing as how everything of his went down with Sunnydale," Dawn remarked.

"Except this," Buffy said. She put a hand to her neck, where she wore two silver chains, and removed one. The one that she left in place bore a crucifix. The other had been longer, and hung down below the level of her blouse; upon removal it proved to have a ring suspended upon it. She passed it to William. "Spike gave me this as an engagement ring," she told him.

William looked at it closely and his eyebrows climbed. It bore the emblem of a skull. Hardly suitable as a token of a promise of marriage. "It is entirely unfamiliar to me," he said. "A rather unconventional device for such a purpose, is it not?"

"Spike was kinda funny that way," Buffy said. Her lip quivered again.

"It is time for my cunning plan," Andrew announced.

"I guess so," Buffy agreed.

"A cunning plan?" William recoiled slightly.

"We're gonna play you some of Spike's favourite music," Dawn interpreted.

"Oh. Very well. I have no objection," William said. "I have always been fond of music."

"You haven't heard it yet," Dawn muttered.

Andrew produced a small device from a pocket. He used wires to connect it to a larger machine, operated some controls, and music filled the air.

Or rather sounds that bore some loose relationship to music.

"_Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated  
Nothin' to do and no where to go-o-oh I wanna be sedated…_"

"_There's no point in asking you'll get no reply  
Oh just remember I don't decide  
I got no reason it's too all much  
You'll always find us out to lunch  
Oh we're so pretty  
Oh so pretty we're vacant…_"

"_White riot – I wanna riot_

_White riot __– a riot of my own_

_White riot – I wanna riot_

_White riot – a riot of my own…_"

"_You spurn my natural emotions  
You make me feel like dirt  
And I'm hurt  
And if I start a commotion  
I run the risk of losing you  
And that's worse…_"

William's forehead became deeply creased as he listened. "Good heavens," he commented. "I shudder to think what W. S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan would make of such cacophony."

"_Ever fallen in love with someone?_

_Ever fallen in love?_

_In love with someone_

_Ever fallen in love?_

_In love with someone_

_You shouldn't've fallen in love with…_"

"Although," William conceded, "this particular song does perhaps have some slight merit. I can empathise somewhat with the sentiments expressed in the lyrics."

"Oh, yeah, I totally get that," Willow agreed. "The Buzzcocks were, like, classic, and hey, that song was just so right for Spike." She smiled at William and he smiled back.

"Willow, can I have a word?" Buffy said. The glare was back on her face as she led Willow a little distance across the room. She whispered into the witch's ear and made a pulling gesture with her hands. William could not make out her words but Willow's reply was clear.

"But hey, Buffy, a spleen won't stretch that far!"

Buffy raised her voice. "With Slayer strength, wanna bet?"

Willow gulped. She avoided meeting William's eyes as she returned, and took up a position slightly further away from him than before.

Buffy turned her attention to William. "Remembering anything?"

"I have no recollection whatsoever of hearing any of this, ah, music before," William told her. "Nothing has changed."

"Spike…" Buffy stared directly into William's eyes. "Please. You must remember. If you're in there somewhere, come back to me. I love you." Her lips parted and she waited for a response.

"I am afraid that addressing me as Spike is pointless," William said.

Buffy's shoulders slumped. "I'm still hoping," she said. "Oh, crap. I guess you might as well kill the punk rock, Andrew."

"There is yet one more option," the young man said. "I told you of our encounter with Aimee Mann at LAX? Perhaps the music of that fair songstress might trigger some memory."

"Not really Spike's style, but yeah, go for it," Buffy ordered. Andrew hastened to make adjustments to the device from which the music was issuing.

"_Oh, Mario,_  
_Sit here by the window;_  
_Stay here 'til we reach Idaho,_  
_And when we go, hold my hand on take-off._  
_Tell me what I already know,_  
_That we can't talk about it._  
_No, we can't talk about it._

_Because nobody knows,_  
_that's how I nearly fell,_  
_trading clothes_  
_and ringing Pavlov's Bell._  
_History shows_  
_there's not a chance in hell…"_

William listened with some interest. This, then, was the lady musician who had greeted him as he had passed through the airport building? It was certainly more to his taste than the previous songs had been. It stirred no memories, however. He shook his head. "I remember nothing," he told Buffy. "I am sorry. Alas, I believe that your attempts are futile. There is, I feel, little point in continuing."

Buffy lowered her head. "I guess. Okay, Andrew, give up." Andrew switched off the music device and disconnected the wires.

"I would like to return to Mr Giles' home," William informed Buffy. "He gave me a key for that very purpose. I am afraid that this meeting has been rather stressful for me and, I believe, distressing for you also. I think that we have done enough for today."

The corners of Buffy's mouth turned down. "Yeah, distressing is one way of putting it. Okay, I guess we're gonna have to call it quits for now. But this isn't over. I don't give up easy."

"Very well, we shall meet again," William agreed. "But this has been quite enough for one day."

"Okay. We'll give you a ride back to Giles' place," Buffy offered.

"I would rather walk, if you don't mind," William said. "Recently I have spent many hours sitting down on the, ah, aeroplane and on the train. A walk would be a welcome change."

"Right. I'll walk over with you," Buffy said. "It's not like you know the way."

William frowned. He wanted to get away from Buffy. Walking in her company would merely prolong the awkwardness. Ideally he would prefer to be with Willow, and he believed that it would not be regarded as improper to request that she accompany him, but he knew that Buffy would not take kindly to such a suggestion. "There is no need," he said. "Andrew can act as my guide. If you would be so kind?"

Andrew broke into a beaming smile. "That would be so cool. As Spike served as my mentor, so shall I act towards his human incarnation."

William forced a smile onto his face even as he groaned inwardly. "Then let us now depart."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Buffy is my Yoda," Andrew remarked, some minutes after they had left Buffy's house; quite incomprehensibly to William. A term from some Oriental philosophy, perhaps, although he could hardly imagine that Andrew would study such things. No, it must refer to one of the 'computer games'. "She totally showed me that the forces of Good rule."

"Ah, yes, quite," William agreed, speaking purely for form's sake. He had little real interest in Andrew's words. An omnibus roared past them, a bright yellow vehicle emblazoned with pictures of toys and the legend 'Legoland'. A village constructed from toy building blocks, apparently, if William had understood the advertising articles in the local newspapers correctly. It might be an interesting place to visit. Or was it purely for children? At least it might allow him a day of escape from Buffy. William spent a moment reflecting on Legoland and allowed Andrew's stream of nonsensical chatter to wash over him unheeded.

"Oh, crap," Andrew exclaimed. The change in his tone registered on William and he turned to look at the young man. Andrew's eyes were wide and his mouth was twisted in apparent worry or even fear. William followed Andrew's gaze and saw a small, open, motor carriage pulling up at the kerb nearby. Two young women were inside. "Caprice and Isabella," Andrew said. "Get out of here, William. Like, run." He pulled out one of the small portable telephone devices.

"Run?" William echoed. The girls vaulted out of the car, not even bothering to open the doors, and raced towards them. They covered the distance so quickly that William had no time to react. One snatched the telephone from Andrew's hand and crushed it in her fist.

"Andrea, you have been the naughty boy," the girl said. She opened her hand and a shower of metal and plastic shards fell onto the grass strip that bordered the paved walkway. "His Benevolence he is most annoyed with you."

"Hey!" Andrew protested. "You broke my phone."

"Your ribs they are next," the other girl threatened. The smile upon her pretty face did not match the menace of her words. She seized Andrew's collar and lifted him effortlessly into the air.

Slayers. William felt a cold shiver run down his spine. What was it that Andrew had said, back at Angel's hotel, when he had burst in at the head of six Slayers of his own? 'Caprice and Isabella work for The Immortal'. 'He pays each of them quarter of a million Euro a year and we can't match that'. These two young women were hired thugs who no doubt sought to inflict grievous harm upon Andrew.

William remembered an occasion when Cedric and Eustace had taken him to watch female pugilists in action. He had been awestruck by the skill of the women, shocked by the ferocity that they had displayed, and quite repulsed by the brutality of the spectacle. Now such brutality, multiplied a dozen times over by the inhuman strength of Slayers, would be unleashed upon Andrew. And, no doubt, upon William if he sought to interfere.

William had felt little fear when the Slayers had entered in Los Angeles. Angel's calm strength and confidence, and Illyria's contemptuous assumption of superiority, had been enormously reassuring. Now Angel and Illyria were five and a half thousand miles away. Shannon was in this very town, but he knew not where to find her, and neither did he know the location of the Watchers' Council office. Buffy Summers' house lay a good ten minutes' walk behind them. There was no help to hand and William felt his heart pound and his mouth go dry. To obey Andrew's instruction, and to flee the scene with alacrity, would be the sensible thing to do. It was an awfully tempting option.

And yet how could he abandon the young man to a brutal beating and still call himself a man? William swallowed hard and then spoke up. "Unhand him, young woman, or I shall call for a constable."

The woman holding Andrew turned her head. She laughed, shook Andrew as if she were a terrier shaking a rat, and spoke in a foreign language; Italian, presumably. The only word that William recognised was 'Caprice', and he therefore deduced that the speaker was Isabella.

Caprice responded to the speech by hurling herself upon William with irresistible force and speed. He found himself seized from behind and jerked backwards. He opened his mouth to call out but a hand clamped down to muffle any sound that he might make.

"The Polizia Inglese do not carry the guns," Caprice hissed into his ear. "We laugh at them."

William struggled to free himself but achieved nothing. The girl's other hand bit deep into the muscle of his upper arm, crushing like a vice and causing excruciating pain. In front of him William saw Isabella lower Andrew until his feet touched the ground and then strike him cruelly in the stomach. Andrew's breath was forced out in an explosive gasp. He swayed in her grasp and it seemed that he would have fallen but for the hand holding him up.

"You can deliver for us the message," Caprice went on. "His Benevolence is not to be mocked." She chuckled. "And we have learn from your Booffy Summers. We are not here. We are in Italia, and we have the many witnesses to prove it."

Andrew groaned. Isabella silenced him with another blow, this time to the face, and blood spurted from Andrew's nose. William was filled with despair. There was but little chance that any would come to their aid, he thought, for even upon a sunny day such as this it seemed that few people in this part of Bracknell chose to walk along the footpaths. Almost all, William had observed, preferred to travel in their motor vehicles. Even if someone did pass by, or if a carriage should stop and its occupants come to intervene, Caprice and Isabella could easily strike them senseless and resume their assault.

And yet there was some slight hope. Bullies, it was William's firm belief, were also cowards. If he could but call for aid perhaps the nerve of the Italian girls would fail them and they would flee. He had to try. He set his teeth into the hand that covered his mouth and bit down as hard as he could. He felt something give. She had cut herself slightly when she crushed the telephone device, it seemed, and the wound opened as he bit. Hot liquid spurted into his mouth, salty and… oddly familiar…

FLASH

"_Sorry, luv, I don't speak Chinese."_

FLASH

"_Don't want the dance to end so soon, do you, Nikki? The music's just starting. By the way… love the coat."_

FLASH

"_You'll find out on Saturday."_

"_What happens Saturday?"_

"_I kill you."_

FLASH

"_I know you'll never love me. I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man, and that's... Get__ your stuff. I'll be here."_

FLASH

"_Because nobody knows  
That's how I nearly fell  
Trading clothes  
And ringing Pavlov's bell  
History shows  
Like it was show and tell…"_

FLASH

"_Spike, no!"_

"_I remember…"_

FLASH

Spike hooked his right foot behind Caprice's leg, bent his left knee, and sagged in her grasp. He thrust himself back, slamming the back of his head into her face, and simultaneously jabbed with his elbow to her body. Her grip was released and Caprice fell backwards. Spike was free. He half turned and brought up his fists. "I'm back," he cried joyfully. "And I'm a bloody…"

Caprice sprang to her feet. She lifted her hand in front of her face, scrutinising the wound, and her pretty face contorted in an ugly snarl. Other than the minor injury from the bite she appeared to be completely unharmed.

Spike gulped and completed his sentence with somewhat less verve. "…human."

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Lyrics from 'I Wanna Be Sedated' by The Ramones, 'Pretty Vacant' by The Sex Pistols, 'White Riot' by The Clash, 'Ever Fallen In Love (with someone you shouldn't've)' by The Buzzcocks, and 'Pavlov's Bell' by Aimee Mann are used without permission.


	9. Chapter 9

Her first punch knocked him down. Her follow-up kick was carelessly aimed and he managed to roll away and avoid it. The swinging foot scraped his side instead of shattering his ribs. He swung his arm, caught her behind the knee, and brought her down to land on her bum. There was no point in his trying to take advantage of her position; if it came down to grappling on the ground Caprice would break every bone in his body. Instead he rolled further away and scrambled to his feet. He cast a quick glance towards Isabella; she was still holding Andrew with one hand, and was punching him with the other almost absent-mindedly, whilst keeping an eye on the situation between Spike and Caprice.

Caprice sprang up and advanced again. Angry but unhurt. Spike assessed the situation. She was stronger than him by an enormous margin. Faster. Too tough to be hurt by most punches or kicks. It would be like fighting Glory, or Caleb, rather than resembling his previous battles with Slayers when he had had vampire strength that almost matched theirs.

On the other hand he had a feeling that she really wasn't particularly skilful. That first punch should have been a fight-stopper, even though he'd ridden the blow as well as he could, but the delivery had been sloppy. Unfocused. This Slayer didn't spend hours each day training. She was strong, and fast, and that was enough for her. God help her if she ever went up against Buffy, or Faith, or – although he hated to admit it – Kennedy. The baby Slayers that he had helped train, Vi and Rona and Caridad, would eat her for breakfast too. Maybe he had just a sliver of a chance.

Even as the thought crossed his mind she hit him again. A punch followed by a spin-kick that might have broken his neck if the punch hadn't already knocked him from his feet. The foot just brushed his hair. Spike performed a rolling break-fall and came straight up again. He wiped a smear of blood from his lip and shook his head to clear it.

Think. How did you beat two Slayers, Spike? By using the external factors better than they did. They were distracted, you weren't, and you won. Spike glanced around the area, sizing up the surroundings.

A street light, a dog turd, a cracked paving slab, a discarded empty plastic water bottle, and close at hand was a small tree with a wire protector around the trunk. Two hundred yards along the road he could see a man walking a dog. An England shirt covered the man's barrel of a chest and his hair was cropped short. At this distance it was impossible to make out tattoos but Spike would have put money on them being there. The dog strained aggressively on its leash. There was potential salvation there, in the form of a witness, but also peril. Any normal bloke would assume that Spike was the villain and the two pretty girls were the ones needing to be rescued. The last thing Spike needed was to be thumped by a well-intentioned bystander, and probably bitten by the dog, when he was outmatched anyway.

Caprice came in again. Spike dodged aside and put the tree in between himself and the Slayer. She kicked out at him past the tree trunk. Spike brought his hands down to catch her foot and simultaneously jumped away. He succeeded in grabbing hold of her ankle and threw himself backwards. Caught with only one foot on the ground Caprice was unable to prevent herself being pulled forward to crash into the tree. She interposed a hand between her face and the tree trunk, and avoided injury, but she was momentarily unsighted and was too slow to react as Spike changed the direction of his pull. He twisted sideways and brought her leg across to collide with the tree. He was rewarded with a gasp of pain from the Slayer before she braced herself against the trunk and pulled her leg from his grasp.

Spike shot a quick glance at Isabella. She had stopped punching Andrew and was merely holding him now. Her attention was concentrated on the fight. There didn't seem to be any immediate prospect of her joining in, which was a relief, but it meant that in the unlikely event of him actually managing to disable Caprice he'd have to do it all over again against the second Slayer.

Spike turned and ran in the direction of the street light. Caprice took a few seconds to react, being occupied in rubbing the knee that had collided with the tree trunk, but then she gave a hiss of fury and pursued. No doubt she expected Spike to try a similar manoeuvre with the lamp-post but he turned to face her a few feet short of the obstacle. Caprice charged in with her hands outstretched to grab for Spike's neck.

She moved fast, very fast, but she was reckless. Spike dropped backwards as she came in, caught her hands, and brought his feet up under her mid-section in a sacrifice throw. Caprice was propelled up and over Spike. She began to rotate in mid-air, intending to land on her feet, but she had forgotten the proximity of the street light. Her back crashed into the solid metal post and she dropped head-first to the ground.

Against a normal human that would have been the end of the fight, except perhaps for some optional applications of a boot to the helpless opponent's ribs, but a Slayer was not a normal human being. Caprice lay on the ground for only a moment before she began to scramble to her feet. It was just long enough for Spike to spring up and reach her while she was still partially dazed.

For just a moment Caprice was wide open and vulnerable. Spike grabbed her head and pulled it down whilst simultaneously bringing up his knee with all the power that he could summon up. He connected right on the point of Caprice's jaw. She rocked under the impact. Spike released her head and brought the side of his hand down on the back of her neck. She slumped to the ground and lay still.

He had done it. No vampire strength, just the experience of a hundred and twenty-four years of street-fighting, and he had still defeated a Slayer. A grin came to his face but vanished almost at once as Isabella dropped Andrew and brought her hands up to a fighting position.

He heard a distant yell of "Oi! What's goin' on?" from the man with the dog, who had obviously spotted the fracas, but there was no point in worrying about that now. The bloke didn't have the rangy build of someone who could cover the two hundred yards in twenty seconds, in fact very much the opposite, and the fight would be resolved one way or the other long before he could join in. He might release the dog, which although it was also stocky of build could certainly reach the scene much faster than its owner, but it was just as likely to bite Isabella. Or it might run into the road and chase cars. Spike put the bystander and the dog out of his mind and focused his attention on the advancing Slayer.

Isabella seemed to have taken heed of her colleague's fate and was giving Spike no chance to turn her own momentum against her. She advanced cautiously, only marginally quicker than Spike could retreat backwards, and flicked out a probing foot towards his stomach. He diverted the kick with his forearm but Isabella retracted her leg immediately before he could attempt any kind of grab.

She was wary of him. That was flattering, in a way, but it meant that she was unlikely to make any rash moves. Maybe there was a way to make use of her caution? Spike was still considering his options when Isabella struck again.

A disabling move, this time, a downward chop with her left hand aimed at his collar-bone. No doubt she would follow up with a punch or kick. Spike risked a right-handed block, hoping that she had sacrificed power for stability and that it wouldn't simply break his intercepting arm, and stopped her strike short. Immediately he brought his left arm across under her armpit and caught hold of his right wrist.

Now he had her in a classic ju-jitsu hold, one that was just as much a favourite move of dockside brawlers in Rio de Janeiro as it was of martial arts practitioners, with both his arms against one of hers and with the leverage very much on his side. Maybe enough to compensate for the Slayer's strength advantage. He heaved and twisted, forcing her to lean backwards, and pushed forward as quickly as possible to give her no chance to use her free right hand or a foot. If she had been a normal human opponent, or if he had had his own former vampire strength, breaking the trapped arm or dislocating a joint would be easy. This time, no matter how hard Spike wrenched on the arm, all he managed to achieve was to cause Isabella to hiss out a stream of curses that were totally indecipherable with Spike's basic tourist Italian. A moment passed in virtual stalemate and then Isabella began, gradually but inexorably, to force her way out of the hold.

Isabella's top lip curled up in a triumphant sneer. She tensed to deliver a blow, probably a kick, and there was little that Spike could do to stop her other than to keep heaving on the trapped arm. He had a tiger by the tail and couldn't let go without leaving himself wide open. Then Isabella suddenly stumbled, lost her balance, and Spike was able to twist the arm back into a disabling position. Isabella's mouth gaped open in surprise and pain and she looked down at her feet.

Andrew had seized her by the ankles.

Isabella struggled to free herself. She forced a foot free of Andrew's grasp and kicked out at him. He cried out in pain but did not release his grip. For a moment Isabella was totally off balance and Spike took full advantage. He wrenched hard, threw his weight against Isabella's arm joint, and even with her Slayer strength she could not resist without dislocating her elbow or shoulder. She fell backwards and Spike followed up quickly. He knelt on her head and kept up the pressure on her arm. Now Isabella was completely helpless and Spike permitted himself another brief grin.

"Oi, leave off!" The burly dog-walker's voice rang out again, closer now, accompanied by a gruff bark from the dog.

Bugger. Again Spike's grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He glanced around and saw that Caprice was conscious once more and beginning to rise to her feet. His attention wavered for a brief moment and Isabella chose that instant to renew her struggles. The Slayer heaved with all her might and broke Spike's grip. She wriggled out from under his knee, pushed him back, and sprang up.

Spike groaned, rose, and prepared himself for another round of combat. It didn't happen. Isabella backed away quickly, supporting her left hand with her right, and her face was contorted in pain. Caprice was staring in horror at one of her own hands. In scrambling to her feet she had made contact with the dog turd. She burst into tears, wiped the hand against the trunk of the tree, and then turned and fled for the car.

Isabella spat out one last imprecation at Spike and then followed Caprice's example. She leaped into the driver's seat and started the engine. It roared to life and the car shot out into the traffic, almost colliding with a white Ford van and causing an angry blast from a horn to blare out, and then accelerated away. Spike caught a glimpse of Caprice extending a hand out of the car, her middle finger raised in an obscene gesture, and then the vehicle was lost to his sight in the traffic.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the pavement as the England supporter thundered towards him. Spike acted quickly to pre-empt any possible attack.

"Thanks, mate," he gasped out in the warmest tones that he could summon up. "You chased them off." He bent down and helped Andrew to rise.

"Eh? What?" The new arrival came to a halt and his eyebrows descended low. One of them was bisected by a scar, more ragged than Spike's equivalent scar, and another scar showed on one cheek. Spike noticed that his deduction about tattoos had been correct. The dog tugged on its lead, but not towards Spike or Andrew; its intended objective was the tree.

"You okay?" Spike asked Andrew. "She gave your ribs a bit of a going-over. Any pain when you breathe?"

"What, those birds went for you?" the dog-walker asked. Incredulity was evident in his tone but there seemed to be no immediate danger of him attacking.

"Bloody kung-fu experts or something," Spike said. "All I did was whistle at them as they went past and they stopped their car, jumped out, and started duffing us up. Sodding Eyeties or whatever."

The bystander stared at Spike and Andrew. Bruises were evident on the two men's faces and both had bloody noses. His forehead creased up as he thought. "Thought you were mugging them," he explained. His head turned towards the road and the creases grew deeper. "Only, yeah, they had a car and you don't. Sorry, mate, had the wrong end of the stick there."

"Don't blame you," Spike said. "No harm done. Well, 'cept to Andrew. You're a mess, mate. Think maybe we'd better get you to hospital."

"There isn't any hospital in Bracknell," the dog-walker pointed out. "There's a casualty unit at The Point, is all."

Spike's eyebrows climbed. Memories, from when William had read the local newspapers, came to the surface. "That's the bowling and cinema complex, right? What, is bowling a combat sport in Bracknell?"

"Been a few fights," the local admitted. "Even a stabbing or two."

"I'm okay," Andrew gasped out. "She just knocked the breath out of me. I can make it to Giles' or back to Buffy's house."

"Well, okay," said Spike, "but we'd better get you checked out by a doctor."

"Want me to call the cops?" the bystander offered.

"Don't know if there's any point," Spike replied. "I forgot all about getting their number. They're well away by now."

"Yeah," the man agreed. "Well, if you're okay, I'll be off."

"Thanks again," Spike said. "Buy you a drink if I bump into you in a pub, mate."

Andrew produced a handkerchief and began to wipe his face as Bracknell's answer to the Good Samaritan departed along the path. "She broke my phone," he complained. He stared down at the ground. "There's nothing left of it at all."

"Slayer strength," Spike remarked. "Not something Nokia takes into consideration."

Andrew raised his head and stared Spike in the face. "You're back," he said. "Spike. You're back, only still not a vampire. But how? We tried everything. And what's happened to William?"

Spike heaved a sigh. "Oh, William's still in there," he admitted. "Dunno if this is the place for an explanation, though. Let's head over to Giles' place, I reckon he'll probably be back there by now, we'll get you patched up and then I'll tell you both the story. Or at least as much of it as I know myself."


	10. Chapter 10

"Good Lord!" Giles stood in the doorway and raised a hand to adjust non-existent glasses. "Are you all right, William? What on Earth happened to you? You seem somewhat the worse for wear as well, Andrew. Would you care to explain?"

"It was totally an Epic Level adventure," Andrew gushed. He had a black eye and a smear of dried blood decorated his upper lip under his nose. "A frail human versus two rogue Slayers, in no-holds-barred combat, and he defeated them both! Spike is the greatest!"

Giles' eyebrows ascended so fast that they seemed to be about to reach orbital velocity, and to be on course for an unscheduled trip to the International Space Station, had they not been firmly attached to his skin. "William defeated two Slayers? Inconceivable."

Spike grinned. "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

"Spike?" Giles stared at the former vampire and his jaw dropped. "It must be. I cannot imagine William Pratt quoting from 'The Princess Bride any more than I can conceive of his prevailing against two Slayers. You're back. Good Lord. I... what... how? Ah, are you still, well, human?"

Spike answered that question with an action. He walked through the door into the house without encountering any invisible barrier. Once inside he jerked his head back toward the outdoors. "Sunny day with patches of cloud, mate. If I had turned back into a vamp I'd be a crispy fried one for sure. Yeah, still human. Bloody hell, that's something I never thought I'd say."

"I take it that your injuries are superficial, and that there is no need for me to call an ambulance?" Giles asked.

"I'm fine," Spike confirmed, "but I don't know about Andy. One of those Italian bints gave him a fair old thumping."

"I'm okay," Andrew said. "I guess they didn't want to get to the bone-breaking part too quickly." He shuddered. "It was all kinds of scary. And then Spike saved me. It was so cool!"

"Did a bit your own self," Spike acknowledged. "Could have been in a sticky situation with that Isabella bird if you hadn't grabbed her legs and put her off balance. Ta, mate."

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Clean yourselves up in the bathroom," he suggested. "There are some basic antiseptics and the like in a cabinet there, if you require them, and I have more medical supplies if necessary. After that," he added, "perhaps you would tell me exactly what happened."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Soon as the blood was in my mouth, that was it," Spike related. "All came rushing back, right? I was Spike again. 'S always about the blood, innit? Just like I always said." He grinned. "Not that everything was all right with the world straight away, of course, had to fight those two daft Italian bints with only human strength, but I managed."

"Remarkable," Giles breathed.

"Have to admit I'd never have been able to see them off if they'd been any bloody good at all," Spike confessed. "Whoever trained them wants bloody shooting."

"Yes, well, I doubt if the Immortal bothers about such things," Giles said.

"Speaking of which," Spike went on, "what was the deal with a Buffy look-alike taking up with that git? And how the hell did she fool me and Angel? Not that we managed to get up close, of course, but we should have been able to smell the difference. We were even in her sodding flat."

"We took extensive measures to insure that the deception was impenetrable," Giles told him. "The original resemblance was passable but Willow augmented it with magic. I hadn't thought about smell, I must admit, but the incantation contained a passage about 'let the five senses be fooled' and I suppose that would cover everything."

"Yeah, right," said Spike, "but why? I can get why His Magnificent Pillockness would want to have the Number One Slayer as a trophy girlfriend, yeah, but why play along with it?"

"Ah." Giles reached for invisible glasses, reconsidered, and tugged the lobe of his ear instead. "Yes, well. We needed Buffy to have an alibi for a certain period and the Immortal offered us a perfect opportunity. His word carries weight in some circles, although God knows why, and if he testified that she was with him then any claims to the contrary would be dismissed."

"You needed Buffy to have an alibi?" Spike's eyebrows went up and then descended in a frown. "What, you had her doing something illegal?"

"Ah, yes, you could say that," Giles admitted. "There were certain aspects of the funding of the new Watchers' Council that needed rather, ah, unconventional actions to be taken."

Spike's eyebrows performed a rapid climb that equalled or exceeded the rate of acceleration shown by Giles' brows earlier. "You're not telling me you got her to rob banks?"

"In a sense, yes," Giles confessed. "Everything that we took was rightfully ours, of course, but the documentation that proved ownership was destroyed when the Council headquarters building was blown up. The bank refused to hand it over and we had to take matters into our own hands. Luckily their security systems were never designed to cope with witches and Slayers."

Spike whistled. "Well I'll be buggered." He shook his head and grinned. "Like the song, innit? 'My Slayer was a bank robber, she never hurt nobody. She just loved to live that way; she loved to take their money'."

"Our own money," Giles stated. "Ah, at least most of it was our own. I fear that liberating a certain safe deposit box, which had belonged to the late and unlamented President Mobutu of Zaire, proved to be an irresistible temptation to one of the young Slayers. It contained gold bars and diamonds of quite considerable value."

"So that's how come you've got a Jag now," Spike teased.

Giles frowned. "Really, Spike, that is uncalled for. There was nothing in the least improper about my car purchase. I did have a BMW in Sunnydale, if you remember, and I assure you that I can easily afford a Jaguar."

"Who could forget that red, shiny, penis-shaped mid-life crisis-mobile?" Spike grinned. "Was only pulling your leg, Rupes. If that useless fat git of a Deputy Prime Minister can have two Jags then the top geezer of the Watchers' Council deserves at least one."

"Indubitably," Giles agreed. "As for those, ah, dubiously acquired funds of African origin, we donated half the proceeds to charities working in the region, and earmarked the rest specifically for funding our operations on the African continent. I felt that was the most appropriate and moral use."

"It was so Robin Hood," Andrew chimed in. "Taking back the money stolen from the poor and oppressed of Africa and using it for a noble cause."

"Yes, quite, and on this occasion I was prepared to go along with it," said Giles, "but it is not any part of the remit of the Council of Watchers to engage in any kind of redistribution of wealth, however worthy the cause, and I trust that you don't regard it as setting any kind of precedent. Our operations should be restricted to opposing supernatural foes."

"Mobutu might have been a demon," Andrew suggested.

Giles sighed and raised his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "I doubt it. His early life is fairly well documented, as I recall, and he died of prostate cancer. A rather unlikely ailment to cause the demise of a demon." He lowered his gaze and fixed it upon Spike. "Let us put aside this irrelevant discussion of Mobutu Sese Seko."

"Yeah, 's not the right spelling to interest the Council of Watchers," Spike said. He grinned at Giles' baffled expression. "Seiko watches. Watches, Watchers, get it?"

"Yes, Spike, very droll." Giles sighed again, less deeply, and once again reached for the glasses that he no longer wore. "If we could turn our attention back to the matter at hand? It is apparent that you retain the memories of William Pratt as well as those of the personality familiar to us as Spike. That rather torpedoes my tentative theory that the Spike persona's memories were entirely those of the vampire demon and were thus lost when you returned to human form. Perhaps you could elaborate?"

"Sorry, mate, I'm no expert on the metaphysics of it all," Spike said. "I just live in this body. Doesn't come with an operating manual, for either the human version or the vampire one, and you'll have to ask someone else about how memory works. Remember, Aristotle thought that the heart did all the thinking and the brain was just there to cool the blood, and he was supposed to be a clever bloke for his time. I'm not likely to be much more accurate. I was a poet, and a student of the Classics, not a biologist."

"Damn it, Jim, I'm a magician, not a doctor," Andrew muttered under his breath.

Giles ignored him. "True," he said to Spike. "Indeed, your background turns out to have been very different from the one that you portrayed. Why, may I ask, did you engage in such deception?"

Spike lowered his eyes to avoid Giles' gaze. "Not exactly the sort of image to inspire fear and awe, is it? Soppy poet, wittering on about love and beauty, sort of thing. Even had the floppy hair, didn't I?"

"That is as may be," said Giles, "but William was a pleasant and personable young man."

"Ta, mate, but 'pleasant and personable' doesn't cut it when it comes to mayhem and destruction," Spike pointed out. "I learned quickly and painfully that William wasn't going to get anywhere as a vampire unless I toughened up. Had to talk the talk as well as walk the walk."

Giles frowned. "I can see that. I shudder to think of someone with the, ah, sensibilities of William in the company of Angelus. You could have been more forthcoming with us, however, after you were, ah, forced to throw yourself upon our mercy. I dare say that we might have treated you in a somewhat better fashion had your street thug persona been revealed to be an act."

Spike shook his head. "Nah, would have just given Xander the opportunity to take the piss out of me something rotten."

"Perhaps," Giles conceded. "That is all water under the bridge now, of course, and idle speculation serves no purpose." He scooped up a notebook from his desk. "I really must learn how to make one of those new-fangled MP3 players record," he muttered under his breath, "or hunt out an old cassette recorder." He took out a pen and turned back to Spike. "Let us get back to more, ah, pertinent matters. I would dearly like to hear the story behind your resurrection."

Spike's eyebrows rose as he stared at the notebook. "Not sure I want to go into it with you taking down notes," he said. His lips twitched upward at their corners. "Better that than you building monuments, though."

Giles frowned for a second and then recognised the reference. He broke into a grin. "You are casting yourself as The Mighty Spike, I suppose? I will concede that Buffy may indeed jump for joy now that you are here. Perhaps a monument would not be totally inappropriate, actually, now that you mention it. The Leaning Spike of Bracknell, perhaps?"

Andrew's wide eyes and creased forehead demonstrated his complete and total bafflement. "A monument to Spike would be cool, yeah," he agreed, "but don't they have to have all kinds of, like, planning permission and things? And, like, shouldn't we have done it when he was supposed to be dead? Although, hey, I hear they're putting up a monument to Nelson Mandela and he's not dead."

Giles sighed once more. "I was being facetious, Andrew. To get back to the matter at hand, Spike, you were going to tell me how it is that you were returned to human form."

"Was I?" Spike pursed his lips. "My plan was to get cleaned up and then give Buffy a ring and tell her I'm back. Didn't expect the bloody Spanish Inquisition."

"Nobody expects..." Giles began.

Spike raised his hand in protest. "Stop it, Rupes, let's not go there."

"No," Giles agreed. A grin came to his lips. "It is a silly place."

Spike groaned and gritted his teeth. "Bloody hell. Okay, I'll tell you what you want to know. It'll give the smell of Dettol time to wear off, 's not exactly the world's most romantic aftershave, is it? Just the short version of the story, though, and then I'll ring Buffy."

"Very well," said Giles. "Do go on."

"Okay, it's like this," Spike began. "There we were, in the alley behind Angel's old hotel, me and Angel and Illyria and Gunn, Wesley not having made it through his mission, and there were bloody hundreds of demons charging towards us. Pissing down with rain, it was, which turned out to be a good thing 'cos everything was too soggy for the dragon to set on fire. Including us, even, which is how Angel managed to kill the bugger. So, there's this bloody great scrap, fists and fangs and swords and what have you, but we hold our own."

"Remarkable," Giles breathed.

"Yeah, well, Illyria's hell on wheels, right, and Angel was hyped up on some power he nicked from the Senior Partners somehow and he was chopping through them like a sodding Samurai, and I was doing okay myself. 'Course, Charlie-boy was already wounded and he didn't last all that long, bunch of vamps grabbed him, and I was fighting some other buggers, and I didn't see them get him until he was already down, but the rest of us did all right. We hacked and slashed and stabbed and the demons seemed to lose their enthusiasm for the fight. They had a giant, bloody great thing he was, only his groin was right on the same level as Illyria's fists and, what she did to him, well, I nearly felt sorry for the bugger."

"Quite," Giles said, wincing slightly.

"Anyway, the demons backed off a bit, and I started to realise how bloody exhausted I was getting, and then they made what must have been one final push and they all came charging back again. One of them clobbered me on the head and everything went black."

"Ah, yes, I know the feeling well," commented Giles.

"Next thing I knew," Spike continued, "I was in this weird place like some sort of temple. All white marble and arches and stuff. There were two weird-looking people there, a bloke and a bird, done up all Greek style. The bloke was in full hoplite armour, only without the shield, and the bint wore a black peplos and had her hair in an Athenian-style chignon."

"You remember your, ah, William's Classical education, then?" Giles put in.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Tosser. I am William. William is me. Got that?"

"Indeed so," said Giles. "Forgive me. The, ah, patterns of speech are so different that it is as if you were, are, two totally different people."

"I am, I assure you, quite capable of speaking in a manner that would be sufficiently formal for any occasion," Spike said, reverting to William's mode of speech with no apparent difficulty. "It is merely that the customs and habits of over a century have become, as it were, second nature."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope that doesn't mean that you will revert to drinking blood out of mere habit."

"Tosser," Spike said again. "Although, good point, if I'm ever in a demon bar I might order a pint of O neg by reflex and I really don't think I'd enjoy it."

"Quite so," said Giles, grimacing. "Please return to your tale. You were describing your meeting with two, ah, mystical beings in Ancient Greek attire."

"Right. Okay, a couple of things about the bird didn't quite fit with the Ancient Greece theme. She had a flak-jacket over her peplos, instead of a himation, and she had one of those Heckler and Koch sub-machine guns slung at her shoulder. So, I raised my eyebrows and said 'Who the hell are you? And where am I?' Not exactly original, I know, but I was a bit off-balance."

"Understandably so," Giles agreed.

"The girl gave me this tight little smile, like she didn't mean it but it was expected," Spike continued, "and told me 'You are in the Space Between. We are the Successors to the Oracles. The liaisons between the Powers That Be and the world of Mortals.' 'Course I wanted that clarified a bit, but she wasn't very forthcoming, so you'll have to just live with that 'cos it's all I got out of her."

"I have heard something about the Oracles, in that context," Giles mused, "but the word on the astral streets is that they were slain by some evil entity three or four years ago."

"That would explain a lot," Spike said, nodding. "Asked them about the machine-gun, and the sodding big sword the bloke was carrying, and the bird said 'We are rather keen on there not being a requirement for any Successors to the Successors.' Wouldn't expand on it, and I wasn't interested enough to keep pushing."

"It does make sense," Giles remarked. "If their predecessors met a violent end..."

"Yeah." Spike nodded again. "Anyway, as long as she wasn't going to shoot me, which wouldn't have killed me but would have bloody hurt, I wasn't that bothered. The important thing was what they wanted with me. Turned out they wanted to make me an offer."

"An offer you couldn't refuse," said Giles. "The chance to become human once more."

Spike shook his head. "Nope. That was already decided. Part of some prophecy, bloody thousands of years old, all done and dusted once I'd done the things that qualified me for it. They were offering me the chance to turn it down."

"Fascinating," Giles murmured. "Go on."

Spike pursed his lips. "In a minute. Think I'd better let Buffy know that my memory's back. If I leave it much longer, and she finds out, she'll bloody kill me."

"I suppose so," Giles said, "and she may be rather cross with me if I delay you further. Very well, Spike, call her now."


	11. Chapter 11

Giles filled in the time, while Spike was on the phone to Buffy, by making a pot of tea and serving up a plate of buttered scones. Even as a vampire Spike had appreciated a good cup of tea and Andrew, although he no doubt preferred coffee, regarded tea as the proper drink for a Watcher and therefore drank it without complaint.

"She's coming straight over," Spike reported, once the call was finished. "Didn't even give me a chance to speak to the Nibblet. I think she wants me all to herself."

"In that case," Giles said, "you had better press on with your story before she arrives. You had just said that the, ah, Oracles offered you the chance to turn down the gift of humanity. I presume it was something to do with the memory loss aspect?"

"That's right," Spike confirmed the deduction. "Thing is, it seems, those Powers gits had always expected it to be Angel who got the reward. Remembering all the shit that Angelus did would drive a human totally batty, no question, so the memory wipe was part of the reward. 'Course, from what Angelus let slip, and what I heard from Darla, Liam wouldn't have won any prizes for being a decent bloke even when he was a human. So, when I beat Angel to the Cup of Ultimate Torment, and then the pillock went and signed away his right to the reward so he could infiltrate the Circle of the Black Thorn, it all..."

"Cup of Ultimate Torment?" Giles interrupted.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Later, mate. You're just getting the main points for now. Anyway, once the Powers twigged that Spike had got past the qualifiers and was in the final, and was two-nil up on Angelus, they started rethinking. See, I was never half as big a bastard as Angelus, and I'd even done a few good things when I didn't have a soul."

"Yes, you did have some, ah, redeeming features," Giles conceded. "More so than I ever gave you credit for, I must admit."

"Pissed Angel off no end," Spike digressed, "when he found out that I'd got over the whole guilt thing with a few weeks of being a nutter in a basement, after he'd spent a century living in alleys, eating rats, and brooding. Anyway, those Oracle characters said that, just maybe, it wasn't fair to erase Spike's memories without giving me some say in the matter. Trouble was, it was an all or nothing deal, or so they said. Either I took them up on it, and William picked up where he left off and it was 'sayonara and goodnight' for Spike, or I missed out altogether and stayed a vampire."

"I must admit to being rather surprised at your choice," Giles said. "I always thought that you enjoyed being a vampire."

"Did, yeah," Spike admitted, "but, right then, I'd sort of gone off the whole thing." He sighed. "Fact is I'd had it up to here with just about everything. All the shit that the First put me through, dying to save the world and it not bloody taking, being a ghost and hearing that I was going to go to Hell, Fred dying, seeing Buffy – as I thought – with that git the Immortal... I was tired of it all. I'd gone along with Angel's suicide mission and I'd pretty much resigned myself to dying. Getting all the Spike memories wiped, and giving William a fresh start, might not be all that different to dying but I didn't care. Plus, it would probably piss Angel off no end. Got to love that bit."

"Even though you wouldn't remember it?" Giles raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, well, that kind of took the gloss off it a bit," said Spike, "but it still counted. I weighed up the things that I'd have liked to remember – Joyce, the Nibblet, Buffy saying 'I believe in you', Wembley '66 and the Miracle of the Nou Camp, me whacking Angel over the head with a crowbar, Angel getting turned into a puppet..."

"Angel was turned into a puppet?" Giles sat bolt upright. "How long ago? How was he restored to his normal self?"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "What's got you so interested? Yeah, it was funny as hell, but you really had to be there."

"It may hold the answer to a case that we are working on," Giles explained. "Were you aware that the avatars of the Norse gods have survived into the modern age, although with powers somewhat reduced since their heyday in the first millennium?"

Spike shook his head. "What, Thor and all that lot? You're kidding."

"I assure you that I am not," said Giles. "They are benign beings, in the main, although one or two can be malicious."

"Yeah, like that pillock Loki, right? The one who cloned Jack O'Neill?"

"I have no idea what you mean by that last bit but, apart from that, you are correct. Our problem, however, is with Odin, the All-Father. He has been afflicted by a curse. It has us completely baffled. Your mention of what happened to Angel, however, may be an important clue."

"Okay, I'll fill you in later," Spike said, "but I'll keep it brief for now, otherwise Buffy will turn up before I finish and you'll be left hanging. So, like I was saying, there were those good memories, yeah, but there were a fair few shit ones as well. Added it up and decided I'd go for it. 'Course, I checked a couple of things first. Always consequences, right? Wouldn't have put it past those Powers gits to bring me back to life with galloping bloody TB."

"Obviously they didn't," Giles said.

Spike grinned broadly. "Told them they'd have to bring me back in perfect health and they agreed. Worked out even better than I hoped. Used to need glasses for reading, right, but not now. Perfect eyesight. The vampire strength is all gone but I've got the body of an athlete. Would probably make a decent middleweight boxer; or maybe light middleweight, haven't checked myself out on the scales lately."

"You do seem to be in fine physical condition," Giles agreed, "which is just as well considering that you found yourself engaged in combat with a pair of rogue Slayers."

"Damn right," Spike said. "If I'd still been in the shape I was in back when I got turned those two would have kicked my arse, for sure, even with the edge I had with from all the fighting experience."

"It was awesome," Andrew put in, his voice slightly muffled by a piece of scone in his mouth. "The sheer skill of Batman, or Elektra, against the brute strength of Sabretooth or the Rhino."

Spike rolled his eyes but made no comment. He took a sip from his teacup before continuing. "Anyway, apart from the bit where I was going to lose my memory, it seemed like a pretty good deal, and even the memory loss bit didn't seem all bad. So I said yes." He looked at Andrew. "Surprised you're not piping up with 'totally awesome, like the Man from Del Monte'."

Andrew merely looked blank but Giles chuckled. "And then, I take it, they restored your humanity?" he asked.

"Pretty much," Spike said, "except that, just before they worked their mojo, the bird said, 'of course, there has to be a loophole.' That worried me for a minute. My first thought was the happiness clause, of course, and I had this flash of me getting lucky with some bikini babe on a sunny beach – not that it would have been all that likely for the William version of me, but you never know – or maybe being in the stands when England wins the next World Cup, and suddenly being a vampire again for a couple of painful, dusty, seconds."

"I can see why that was a worrying prospect," Giles said, "although obviously it wasn't the loophole to which they were referring."

Spike nodded. "I told them to hang on a minute, and that I wanted to know more about the loophole, and the bird explained a bit more. I'm human permanently, unless of course I get turned again the normal way, and the loophole only applied to the memory loss aspect. She told me that I'd get the Spike memories back if I drank the blood of a Slayer. Couldn't see that happening, no way, and so I told them to go ahead."

"And, inevitably, that unlikely circumstance came about," Giles said. "Million to one chances, as Terry Pratchett says, crop up nine times out of ten. Hmm. I wonder if the Oracles foresaw it? Their title does imply that they have foreknowledge of the future..."

"Buggered if I know," Spike said. He bit into a scone and washed it down with tea. "Anyway, it all seems to have worked out pretty well in the end."

"Indeed so," Giles agreed. "Do you recollect anything about the actual spell that turned you human?"

"What, you're thinking about maybe using it on some other vampires?" Spike shook his head. "They just waved their hands and said 'Let it be so!' and, next thing I knew, I was back in the alley but now I was William." He went on to give a recap of the subsequent events, expanding upon the account that he had previously given in his William persona, making use of his Spike memories to clarify things that he had not previously realised were significant.

"Remarkable," Giles said, as Spike finished his tale, his scones, and his cup of tea. "I shall consider the implications, and I may wish to question you further later, but for now, if I may, I'd like to return to something you mentioned earlier. You said something about Angel having been turned into a puppet."

"Yeah," Spike said. "Bloody hysterical, that was. These evil puppet demons turned him into a wee little puppet vampire. Cute as a kitten. Still had his vampire strength, though, and he actually kicked my arse. Was laughing too much to fight properly..."

"Fascinating," Giles said, "and relevant, as I mentioned, to a current case in which the Council is involved. Odin, the All-Father, chief of the Norse gods, has been smitten by a similar curse and he, too, has been turned into a puppet. Do you know how Angel was cured of his affliction?"

Spike opened his mouth to reply and at that very moment the doorbell rang.

"Buffy," Spike said.

"No doubt," Giles said. "I'd better let her... ah."

Buffy hadn't waited for the door to be answered. She rushed in, a whirlwind of flying hair and flashing eyes, and stopped in front of Spike. "Spike," she said.

"Buffy," he replied.

"I was kinda planning on punching you on the nose," Buffy said, "for that 'No you don't' thing, and for coming back to life and not telling me, but it looks like someone beat me to it."

"You totally should have seen it," Andrew gushed. "One mere human, standing alone against two with superhuman strength, prevailing through awesome martial arts ability and..."

"Andrew, shut up," Buffy ordered. She seized hold of Spike's arm. "We've wasted enough time. I've thrown everyone out of the house – turnabout is fair play – and I'm taking you back there. To bed. Right now."

Spike nodded. "Sounds good to me," he said.

"If I could prevail upon you to wait just a little while, Buffy," Giles said, "there was just one matter on which I wanted Spike to shed a little light..."

"I've waited a year," Buffy said, "and I'm not waiting any longer."

"A few moments only," Giles pleaded. "Spike may be able to resolve the perplexing problem of Odin, the All-Father, and his unfortunate transmogrification into a puppet."

"Ask Angel," Spike suggested. "He was right up at the sharp end, knows more about it than me anyway, so you can get the info straight from the horse's mouth."

"That would be rather... awkward, in the circumstances," Giles pointed out. "I fear it will take some time to mend the bridges that I burned."

Buffy led Spike towards the door. "That's tough, Giles, but you'll just have to suck it up," she said. "I don't care about Great Muppety Odin. I miss the sex."


End file.
